


Entwined Families

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And Cousinly Affection, Angst, Arguing, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fathers & Sons, Fóli is NOT the father of Fíli & Kíli, He's Dori And Nori's Stepfather, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mothers & Sons, Nobody Trusts Fóli, Occasional Whump, Olùmil Is The Father Of Óri, Parental Death, Uncles & Nephews, Where's Nori?, Óin's Trying His Best to Look After His Brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their mother dies and their father Fades, Glóin and Óin's lives are forever changed. Óin's left to attempt at looking after his brother, but how is he expected to do that when his brother insists on spending his time with thieves?<br/>Idùzhib hasn't seen her youngest son for decades since he was stolen from her by her first One, but with the help of her eldest son, Dori and her fiance Olùmil, she never loses hope that someday she'll be reunited with the son she lost. </p>
<p>When he is found, a secret is revealed, one that will bring them together..or push them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Óin is 72 years old in this. In Man years, this is equivalent to 18 years old.
> 
> Glóin is 63. In Man years, this is equivalent to 15.5 years old.
> 
> Dwalin is 74. In Man years, this is equivalent to 18.5 years old.
> 
> Balin is 83. In Man years, this is equivalent to 20 years old.
> 
> Nori is 56. In Man years, this is equivalent to 14 years old.
> 
> Dori is 70. In Man years, this is equivalent to 17.5 years old.
> 
> Óri isn't born yet.
> 
> Bofur is 34. In Man years, this is equivalent to 10 years old.
> 
> Bifur is 67. In Man years, this is equivalent to 20 years old.
> 
> Bombur is 4. In Man years, this is equivalent to 1 year old.
> 
> Fíli isn't born yet.
> 
> Kíli isn't born yet.
> 
> Thorin is 100. In Man years, this is equivalent to 25 years old.
> 
> Dís is 86. In Man (or should that be Woman?) years, this is equivalent to 21.5 years old.
> 
> The OCs
> 
> Sannith - Glóin and Óin's mother. She died shortly before the story begins. She had black eyes and ash-blonde hair which she kept free. Cause of death is due to a sudden illness. She dies when she's 202 years old, which is the equivalent of 50.5 years old in Man (Woman?) years.
> 
> Fóli - A young thief who befriends Glóin. He's got green eyes and has black hair which he keeps in a braid. He's a good guy, but there's something about him which really doesn't appeal to the kin of his friend. He's 85 years old, which is eqivalent to 21 years old in Man years.
> 
> Idùzhib- The mother of Nori and Dori, and later, Óri. She is the one who most suspects Fóli of being up to no good. She has silver eyes and has flaming red hair which she wears in intricate braids. She's 160 years old, which is the equivalent of 40 years old in Man (Woman?) years.
> 
> Olùmil - The second of Idùzhib's two Ones. He's quiet and likes to read to his fiance and future stepsons. He has deep blue eyes and mousy brown hair which he keeps in a ponytail and is very protective of his family. He's 148 years old which is the quivalent of 37 in Man years.
> 
> Sannith - Khuzdul for 'Perfect Girl'
> 
> Idùzhib - Khuzdul for 'Diamond'
> 
> Olùmil - Khuzdul for 'Midnight'

Gróin and Sannith had chosen a very bad time to die, Óin thought rather crossly to himself. Then he felt guilty for thinking such a terrible thing. But when Sannith had died several months before her eldest son came of age, Óin knew that it would only be a matter of time before Gróin followed her into Mahal's Halls. Óin missed their parents horribly. Not least because he'd inherited an absolute Balrog of a brother to try and bring up. Glóin wasn't _bad_ , not really, but he was developing an awful habit of spending time with people who were really Not Good. He looked older than his 62 years, with his beard that could now be plaited without looking too short and his fierce gaze. But Óin saw the innocence that still shone in those bright black eyes, he saw that his brother was still small for his age and that made him more determined than ever to keep him safe and well.

Too bad Glóin didn't share his point of view.

"Why do you fuss so?" he asked on more than one occasion.

"You know why."

"No, I don't."

"Because you're all I have left and I want to keep you safe."

Those conversations always ended the same way.

"Aye, but I am safe with him."

"That boy steals." Óin would say firmly.

"He doesn't do it to be annoying-" Glóin would try and defend.

"That is not the point. Thieves have enemies. Every second you spend with him, the higher the chance you have of being attacked and hurt." Óin would tell him. "And worse!"

"I can look after myself."

Hating the thought of getting in an argument with his brother, Óin would come in with a retort specially designed to make his sibling laugh or at least smile and then the conversation would be finished. And he'd hope against hope that he wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night to find his brother sneaking in. And that hope would be dashed barely a week later and the cycle would start over. He glared down at the empty bed. Curse brothers.

Hearing a soft gasp, he swiftly looked toward the window, just in time to see a head of flaming red hair duck down. So. He'd finally decided to return. Slowly, quietly, Óin prowled over to the still-open window and gazed out of it, breathing in the cool midnight air. "Cold one tonight," he remarked to himself and his audience. "Be best to close this window. What do you think, brother?"

Black eyes stared balefully up at him. "There's no need for sarcasm."

"Get in here." Óin demanded. "You'll either fall and die or die of cold, and I won't be sympathetic!"

"You never are," Glóin retorted as he climbed through.

Óin scowled at him. "Now is no time for back-chat, you little shite. How many times must I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"You know what!" Glóin ducked his head and gave his brother an apologetic look. "I was meeting Fóli."

"Oh. You were seeing him."

"There's nothing wrong with Fóli!" Glóin said as he sat upon his bed and began tugging his boots off.

"There is nothing right with Fóli!"

"You realise this is exactly why I climb out the window, don't you?"

"Nadadith, he steals." Óin reminded him.

"Not when I'm with him."

"Maybe, but what if one day he turns to you and says, 'Would you help me raid so-and-so's home?'"

"I'd say 'no'. What kind of person d'you think I am? I'd never steal off anyone."

"Even if your friend asked you?"

"Óin! No, I wouldn't! Why would you think such a thing?"

"It can be hard to say 'no', that's all."

Succeeding in yanking off his footwear, Glóin shook his head. "I bet Adad would be alright with him."

Despite the instant hit of sadness that hit him upon mention of their adad, Óin smiled at the thought of Gróin's reaction to Fóli . "He wouldn't! He'd lop off his head and stick it on a spike."

Glóin tried not to laugh. "You needn't look so happy about it."

Óin fought a grin as he sat beside his brother. "He'd kill you and all for climbing out the window." "You won't tell-? Oh."

Glóin sometimes forgot about Gróin's passing. It was as though his mind couldn't quite comprehend the fact that they would never again see him.

"No, I won't tell."

"I bet he knows already. He always did find out things he shouldn't have."

Óin laughed quietly. "Aye, he did." Sliding an arm around his brother's shoulders, he entwined a lock of red around his finger. "Promise me you won't try and climb out that window again."

"Will you give Fóli a fair chance?"

Óin muttered to himself. Glóin poked him. "Watch out with your violent ways!" Óin told him, grabbing his hand. "Oh, fine! If it stops you from clambering about like a giant squirrel, I suppose I will."

"Thank you."

"Alright. Now, I've made my promise, you _must_ keep yours. Deal?"

"Aye," Glóin agreed. "Good. Now," Óin shook Glóin's hand and regained his distance. "Off to bed with us. It's far too late to be up and about."

He kissed his brother's forehead and left, briefly stopping to close the door. Glóin went to shut the window, pausing to look at the stars and wonder,as always, if Gróin and Sannith were up there somewhere watching them.


	2. Idùzhib's Strength and Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olùmil and Dori watch as Idùzhib continues her search.

* * *

Everyday started the same way. Idùzhib would get up, awaken her fiancé with a kiss and put the kettle over the fire. Then she went to awaken her eldest and then she went to visit the old nursery of her youngest son. Often, Dori would hear her singing an ancient lullaby and he would pause and listen. Olùmil would find him and exchanged a look with him.

"She's so brave." Dori said once.

"She is," Olùmil agreed, ruffling the auburn hair of his stepson. "She is indeed."

Currently, Idùzhib was poring over a map, silvery eyes darting over it as though her missing child was concealed within the black dashes and pale green of the map. "Go and visit Sannith's boys for me." Idùzhib asked, not removing her eyes. "She'd kill me for not making sure they were alright."

"Are you visiting them?" Olùmil enquired.

"No, I'm visiting that forest."

Olùmil stared at her. "You're joking!"

"I'm not."

"That forest is full to the brim with unsavoury characters. You can't go there!"

"It's the one last place that he could have taken Nori to." Idùzhib answered curtly, rolling up the map. "Get going, the two of you!"

"Amad, are you really going to go?"

Idùzhib nodded and went to place her hands on Dori's shoulders. "Your brother could be inside that forest. I need to find him." Dori thought of the huge, dark forest with the gnarly trees and Men and wicked Dwarves with leering faces attacking his mother and shivered. "I don't want you to go."

"Me neither." Olùmil added. "It's far too dangerous! Even the most fearless of our warriors don't enter that forest willingly and for good reason."

"The most fearless of our warriors don't have a son missing." Idùzhib snapped."I'll not be going for a good few weeks. Now. Will one of you do as I ask and visit Sannith's sons?!"

 

* * *

 

 

Glóin yawned. Óin shot him a sharp look. "Don't start going all doe-eyed on me now. It's your own fault that you're tired."

"You have a hard heart."

"Thank you. Tea?" "Mm. Please."

Óin tsked as his brother reached for the biscuit tin. "You're lucky I'm not whapping your knuckles, you treat-stealing hooligan!"

"Dwalin will be over soon, so I'd better have some now."

Óin chuckled. "Are you suggesting that our _cousin_ is the one who steals the biscuits?"

"I'm not suggesting it, I'm stating it!"

They shared a laugh and Óin gave Glóin his tea in exchange for a biscuit.

"What d'you want for breakfast?"

"Don't mind."

Locating the bread, Óin nearly hurled it away once he saw its colour. "It's blue!" Gingerly placing it down, he frowned at it. "Did we have that yesterday?" He asked of his brother.

"Hope not." Glóin answered, looking repulsed at the thought.

"Never mind, we've got eggs in the cupboard... No, we haven't."

"Do you want me to go to the bakery, and-?"

"No, stay there." Óin told him. "Ah!" He held up a bag of oats and smiled triumphantly.

"Is the milk alright?" Glóin asked, smiling cheekily at him.

Óin lightly tugged his ear. "You know perfectly well it is!"

He found the pot and placed it upon the bar over the fireplace before putting the milk and oats inside. "Glóin? You couldn't do us a favour and go to the marketplace could you?" Óin requested.

"What do you need?" "Everything from bread to thread."

"You're a poet and a really awful one at that!"

"Trust you to say that. I'm going to the Healing House today, nadad. Don't get yourself into trouble."

"What trouble could I get into?"

Ladling the hot porridge into a bowl, Óin pretended to think. "Hmm. Getting lost, getting into a fight, getting into an argument..."

"I won't do nothing! I'll go get the things and come straight back."

"I believe you."

"What time are you back, then?"

"She usually lets me go by eight." Óin looked directly at Glóin. "So, I need you to be back here by half past. Will you do that for me?"

"Aye, I can do that."

Óin spooned up the last of his porridge and dumped the bowl in the sink. Sneaking another biscuit, he went to get dressed in his pale grey work tunic and returned to grab some mint to chew on and drew the housekeeping urn from behind their amad's favourite cookbook. "Hey, sleepyhead," he lightly shook his brother's shoulder. "Once you've made yourself presentable, take these coins with you. It should be enough."

Glóin stood up and offered a tired smile. "I'll get dressed and that now then."

"Good."

"Then I'm going back to bed."

" _Glóin_!"


	3. Abzunde's Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori and Glóin discuss Idùzhib's ongoing search for Nori. Glóin gets advice from their baker.

"You alright?"  
  
Looking up, Glóin easily recognized the deep auburn hair belonging to Dori. "I'm alright, yeah. You?"  
  
"Fine. How's Óin?"  
  
"He's alright too. Just gone to the Healing House for his craft. I'm going to the marketplace. Coming?"  
  
"Suits me."  
  
They walked together in an amiable silence. Then Dori carefully asked:  
  
"Fóli not around?"  
  
Glóin rolled his eyes. "Not you too! Everyone in the village has been 'warning' me about him."  
  
"Well, in fairness, he has been involved in illegal activities." Dori pointed out. "I bet Dwalin's pulling his hair out."  
  
"He hasn't _got_ any hair to pull out."  
  
Dori laughed at that before growing guilty. "We shouldn't laugh at such things."  
  
"No. Well, he isn't happy, you're right there. But Óin has said he'll give him a fair chance, so I'm hoping Dwalin might accept him too."  
  
"And Balin?"  
  
Glóin pulled a face. "He doesn't say, but I know he isn't happy either."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Did Idùzhib tell you to ask?" Glóin asked.  
  
"No..."  
  
Glóin gave him a knowing look. "She did, didn't she?"  
  
"She worries for you two when she's not worrying for Nori."  
  
There was a slightly tense way in which Dori had spoken and Glóin looked at him in concern. "What's going on?"  
  
"She wants to visit the forest."  
  
"Cutthroat Forest?"  
  
Dori winced. "Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's where our birth father is most likely to be. She hasn't found Nori anywhere else."  
  
"Our prince won't let her."  
  
"Oh, you know my amad. She's going to get there one way or another."  
  
"Can you remember your brother?"  
  
"Barely. I remember Amad holding this bundle of soft purple and cooing over him. I don't remember him being stolen."  
  
"Maybe this year will be the year."  
  
Dori smiled sadly. "Perhaps."

* * *

 

Sannith had always been there with him to the marketplace. It felt less busy and crowded and noisy with her there, gripping his hand tightly, no matter how old he was, and guiding him through. 

He felt utterly lost in the bustling crowd and tried to be subtle as he stayed close to Dori, though he mentally chided himself on being so childish.  
  
"What did Óin say he needed?"  
  
"Everything from bread to thread." Glóin repeated, glancing from stall to stall and feeling all the more lost.   
  
"Right. Well, the sewing equipment stall is there." Dori pointed. "You're better off getting black..."  
  
He felt hopeless, looking around the stalls and trying to find things. It was fortunate he had Dori with him, else he'd have gone home empty-handed.   
  
"Are you sure there's nothing else?" Dori asked for the nineteenth time that day.  
  
They had the thread, eggs, another sack of oats, flour, and various seasonings. Glóin genuinely couldn't think of anything else and shook his head. They had butter and cheese and milk back at the house and the butcher's wasn't too far if they needed any meat.   
  
"We'd best go before it gets any busier," Dori said, easing the heavy bag of flour out of Glóin's arms.  
  
Glóin stared at Dori as he walked beside him. "It can get busier?!"

* * *

 

 There was something not quite right, Glóin decided as he looked around. The red, glass vase that Sannith had treasured and Gróin had loathed was at a different angle to the one Sannith had left it in. 

The window hadn't been open either.  
Silently placing the items down, he looked toward the living room and quietly stole toward it, wondering if, if there was an intruder, they would be in there.  
  
"Alright there, Glóin?"  
  
Glóin jumped and then shook his head. "Fóli! You had me worried."  
  
Smoky-green eyes crinkled in amusement. "I was wondering if you were about."  
  
"How long have you been lingering?" Dori asked pointedly.  
  
"Not long. What you up to?"  
  
"Went to the market for my brother." Glóin answered.  
  
"Ah. I'd better take my leave, then."   
  
"When will I see you next?"  
  
Fóli shrugged and grinned at him. "Who knows? T'ra."  
  
Fóli crawled his way out of the window, jauntily waved and went on his way. Dori made a disapproving noise and muttered,

"Why didn't he use the front bloody door?"

* * *

 About an  hour  after  Dori  took  his  leave, Fóli came back. "He wasn't pleased to see me."

"He's protective is all. You alright?"

"Yeah." Fóli  peered in mild interest at the mold-encrusted bread on the counter. "That bread's seen better days hasn't it?"

Glóin spun and stared at it. "I _knew_ I'd forgotten something!"

Fóli chuckled. "How did it get so bad?"

"It didn't look bad yesterday."

"Mm. You'd better go and visit that bad-tempered baker..."

"Mistress Abzunde isn't bad-tempered!" Glóin told him, snatching up the spare coin.

"She is to me," Fóli argued as he followed his  friend out the door. "She hurled a bag of flour at me the other day!"

 

 

* * *

 

" _What the hell are you doing here?!_ "

Maybe it had been a foolish idea to bring Fóli in the bakery. Abzunde's olive-green eyes were narrowed and she hand her hands planted firmly on  her  generous hips as she glared at the raven-haired thief.

"Out with you!" she ordered, pointing a hand with a silver ring bearing a tiny pearl. "Go on, out!"

Fóli obeyed, but stood at the door, his eyes fixed on the Dwarrowdam's ring. Glóin tried to hide it by standing in front of her. She pushed several strands of her copper-red hair  behind  her  ears  and  pinned  a  smile  on  her  face, seemingly  not  noticing  the  young  thief's interest.

"What  will  you  be  needing?"

"We're  out  of  bread." Glóin  explained. "Do you have any loaves left?"

"Aye. How many d'you need?"

"One, please."

She  placed  the  warm,  golden  bread  in  a  white  cloth  and  handed  it  over. "Lad, why do you insist on being with the likes of him?"

"There's nothing wrong with him."

A thick eyebrow rose. "He's a thief and far too good at it. It's not wise to be spending your time with such a boy."

"He really isn't so bad."

Abzunde sighed softly "I don't want you to get in trouble. And that is what you'll find when you have people like him for a friend."

"I haven't found trouble, though." Glóin said. 

Abzunde flickered her eyes to where Fóli stood, playing with his braid. "Not yet."

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abzunde is the mother of Bofur and Bombur. I must remember to put this in the tags!


	4. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child is taken. Thorin is determined to get to the bottom of who committed such a crime and Dwalin finds his youngest cousin's friend quite suspicious.

"What a day," Óin sighed, hanging his cloth satchel on the hook by the door. "Get the kettle on, lad, would you?"

"How was it?"

"Tiring." Óin dropped himself onto the sofa and rubbed his forehead. "Why did I decide to become a healer?"

"Because you like telling people what to do."

"The minute I've had my cuppa, I'm going to kill you."

Glóin smiled and sat beside him. "Dori came by."

"Mm. That's nice." Óin yawned widely and staggered off his seat. "I know it's early, but I'm going to bed for a few hours."

" _'No drinking in your room,  nadad.'_ " Glóin reminded, using the same words and tone his sibling used.

"Mockery is a low form of wit," Óin chided. "And, for your information, I wasn't going to." Pouring steaming water into a mug, he glanced toward his brother. "D'you want one?"

"I'm alright, thanks." 

Placing a spoonful of sugar into the hot liquid, Óin stirred it briskly and joined Glóin on the sofa. "You might want to go see Bifur. I'm not going to be brilliant company tonight."

He wasn't brilliant company _any_ night. He was always tired when he came in and then he had to leave early in the morning. It was busy work being a healer and Óin was actually fortunate with the hours he got, but just _once_ Glóin would have liked to spend an evening with his brother. He didn't say anything- never would he tell Óin what he was thinking, but his expression must have given something away, for Óin lowered his cup and gave him a concerned look.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Glóin quickly answered.

Óin opened his mouth to argue more on the matter only to shut it and swiftly turn his head as the front door creaked open. A familiar dark head popped in and Óin relaxed. "Have you never heard of knocking, cousin?"

"You're needed in the Hall. A child has been stolen."

* * *

 

The Hall was directly in the middle of Ered Luin. A pale stone building, it was used to hold trials and to hold meetings of great importance- such as this one. Everyone could just about squeeze in to listen to what was being said and it could get unbearably hot, particularly in the summer months, but this was borne with no complaints as being called to it was a rare thing.

There was a narrow ledge where the speaker would stand and address the group. Their Prince and Princess were usually on there but this time there was also a pale-faced Dwarrowdam, clutching a small stuffed toy. She had long black hair that was untidy as though it had fingers run through it and her mouth was trembling. 

"Bakhuzel, son of Bakhuzâl was stolen from his chambers whilst he slept," their Prince said slowly as though he couldn't make sense of what he was saying. "The thief seems to have climbed up and broken a window to retrieve him." he paused before pressing on. "This, unfortunately, has happened before, the only difference being that a _baby_ was stolen, not a nineteen year old beardling. Bakhuzel was taken this morning and this afternoon, a similar theft was attempted."

A ripple of shock grew among them. 

"I don't know who is doing this or why, but we are raising our security. More guards will be patrolling the streets, but I need you all to be diligent. Don't let your children out of your sight, keep your underage brothers and sisters and cousins close and you _must_ report anything alike to this crime that you may see. Ulinh," the Prince turned to the sorrowful woman and gently touched her shoulder. "Can you tell them what your son looks like?"

She nodded and exhaled slowly. "My  _hôfukel_ is very small," she haltingly began. "He's got raven-black hair and he has hazel eyes. He's so trusting and I think he must have thought it was alright to go with the thief. He carried with him a string necklace that held a green jewel that his adad found and gave to him." she stopped and closed her eyes. "If you see him, please bring him back to me."

There was a deafening silence in which Glóin found that Óin was tightly gripping his hand.

* * *

 

"I hate crimes like this," Dwalin declared. "They always end as they've started - absolutely _tragic_. Why do people decide to harm those so much smaller and weaker than themselves?"

"Because they're cowards who know a child can't defeat them." Balin answered grimly.

"They could find him," Glóin pointed out.

Dwalin pulled a face, but didn't argue any further.

"We can hope so, but the chances are it's exactly like when Lady Idùzhib's baby was taken." Balin said tiredly.

"But he was taken by his father. What would these people have to gain by taking children?" Glóin questioned.

His cousins and brother exchanged looks.

"I'll tell you when you're older." Óin answered gruffly. 

"But-"

Óin silenced him with a sharp look.

* * *

 

Dwalin's hand gently gripped  Óin's shoulder, stopping his younger cousin effectively. "I need to talk to you."

Letting  Balin accompany Glóin back inside, Óin turned to Dwalin. "What is it?"

"That boy, Fóli, what do you think of him?"

"I think he's a slimy little bastard."

Dwalin nodded in approval. "That's exactly my thoughts on him. I don't like him. And I _really_ don't like that Glóin likes him."

"Neither do I. But what can we do? Glóin likes his company."

 Dwalin's face was set in a heavy scowl. "I suspect Fóli has a thing or two to do with these disappearances."

"He doesn't steal _people_."

"No, but that's not to say he isn't involved with  the ones who are doing the child-stealing."

Óin blinked at him. "But Glóin wouldn't stick around with him if he was!"

"Do you believe Fóli would tell him?"

Óin thought for a while and then shook his head. "No. I don't think he would."

"Cousin, keep a _very_ watchful eye on your nadad. Do what you must to keep them apart."

"He's Glóin's best friend." 

Dwalin lowered his head. "I know. I know he is." In a softer tone, he added, "surely he has other friends?"

"Yes, but none as close as that weasel."

"Then make suggestions that he go and see these other friends." Dwalin said. "Because the last thing I want to hear is that my youngest cousin's gone and landed himself in trouble!" 

 

 


	5. Lessons Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Óin tries to follow Dwalin's advice. Glóin discovers something about Fóli that he isn't comfortable with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot the age I made Bombur *headdesk* I ended up making him a baby... Sorry!

"What you up to today?" Óin asked, deftly redoing his brother's attempts of braiding his flaming red hair.

"Was thinking of finding Fóli."

Ah. There was his first challenge.  Óin knew better than to order Glóin from seeing Fóli. He'd tried once and it had ended badly with hurt accusations and very rude words hurtling around, most of which came from the younger of the pair.   
Óin racked his brains to think of something else to occupy him, _anything_ that didn't involve his little brother meeting up with thieves.

"I was thinking that you might want to see Abzunde and help her watch her lads. She's got two little ones and what with this child thief wandering about, she likely fears the most of all the mothers."

Glóin gave a short nod of agreement. "Aye. She doesn't much like Fóli, though."

"Well, I'm sure he'll understand." Óin said pleasantly, neatly bonding the plait together with a thick, dull silver bead. "There y'are. You look presentable now."

"Ta. Are you going now?"

Óin placed his satchel over his head and opened the door. "I am, yes. You alright?"

"Yeah. I'll go and see Miss Abzunde soon."

"Good. I'll see you tonight, nadad."

* * *

As Glóin got nearer to Abzunde's residence, he heard the familiar sounds of a young family- snippets of high-pitched giggling, calls for children, murmurs of a lullaby and when he got to the door, he barely noticed where he was, as he was so lost in memories of the four of them squashed into Gróin and Sannith's home.

"For Mahal's sake, _don't_ eat the flour...! Oh, _Bombur_!" 

When the harried baker answered the door to find a young redhead nearly doubled over in laughter, she hmmphed good-naturedly at him. "Oh, I see. You come along and laugh at a young woman in need, is  it?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Abzunde."Glóin offered, straightening himself up. "D'you want any help?"

She smiled. "I wouldn't say 'no', lad, I really wouldn't. See if you can get his Lordship away from those bags. I have to find Bofur and take him off to his runes."

 As Abzunde bustled off, the sound of her turquoise skirts trailing into silence, Glóin looked around to find something to distract the baby from his pilfering of his mother's supplies. Spotting a  ragged, green teddy he showed it to the babe, hoping it wold work and smiled in relief when Bombur waddled to grab it. Not wanting to take any chances of the beardling losing interest in his toy to dig through the flour bags again, Glóin lifted him and walked in the same direction Abzunde had.  
He found her tying the hair of her eldest into plaits. She glanced his way and smiled.

"Ta, I'll be able to make the bread now."

"Why do babies try and eat everything?" Bofur asked, gazing at his brother with curious eyes.

"Can't you remember that far back?" Abzunde teased, giving her son a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Can you?"

"Not too well. My earliest memory is of shoving my sister into a pond when I was 12."

Bofur giggled. "Glóin, what can you remember?"

Fundin's last words to him flashed across his mind briefly and Glóin shook his head at the same moment Abzunde quickly said, "you'll know later, sweetling. We have to get you to the tutor at the Hall." She tied the last braid and moved to her youngest. "Do me a favour and keep him outside. I _hate_ keeping him cooped up inside all day, though he loves the bakery. Make sure you keep in view of adults, Glóin."

"I am an adult."

"Not 'til you're seventy-two years old. You've a decade to go, lad."  

"Everybody keeps saying that," sighed Glóin, making Abzunde chuckle.

"The ten years will fly," she promised. "Now, I have to go. Bring Bombie to me around one, would you?"

Following the dwarrowdam as she hoisted up a bag of the flour Bombur had sampled, Glóin asked, "where should I take him?"

"Anywhere. Youngsters like it by the river don't they?"

"Think so."

"Take him there, then. Just make sure he don't drown!" 

* * *

 

Bombur had been quite content to paddle his feet in the gently flowing river, but then he'd gotten bored of it and discovered that pebbles made a little plinking sound when thrown into the glittering pale blue surface and had begun throwing tiny stones into the river.

As Abzunde requested, Glóin had ensured they were in close proximity to a group of adults, one of which was a brown-haired male who'd moved himself closer once Glóin and Bombur had settled and asked them how they were every ten minutes. Locating a flat stone, Glóin aimed it at the river to try and skim it across the silver-blue patches of smoothness that the river bore. It jumped on the water four times and sunk without warning. Bombur offered him a round stone in a silent question for an encore of the performance.

"You need a flat stone. See?"

He repeated it, managing to get the rock to skim five times this time. Bombur wasn't looking this time and Glóin followed his gaze to the dark-haired figure coming their way.

 

"So, you've been hiding here!"  
  
"Alright, Fóli?"  
  
Fóli smiled and crouched down beside him. "Who's the pudding?"  
  
"This is Bombur. Don't call him a pudding in front of his brother, it's liable to get your shin kicked in." Glóin warned.  
  
Fóli snorted. "Kids! He's not yours, is he?"  
  
"No, I'd have told you if I had a baby!"  
  
Fóli hummed in response and took his eyes off the baby. "Everyone seems on edge today."  
  
"There's a child stealer about."  
  
"Hmph. Not doing a good job of it. There's still roughly thirty babes in this village."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Just an estimate."  
  
"Fóli, you don't know who's taking them, do you?"  
  
Fóli looked rather mild, considering the question. "Why the question, friend?"  
  
"I.. I don't know."  
  
"I know people who have, yes."  
  
Fóli's matter-of-fact answer made Glóin tense, yet he had another question for the dark-haired dwarrow.  "What do they do it for?"  
  
Fóli's eyes travelled to the brunette sitting close to them. "I'll find you tonight, then I'll tell you without others listening in."  
  
Glóin nodded. "I'd better get Bombur to his amad. See you later, Fóli."  
  
Fóli gave a nod in response and focused his gaze on the lightly bouncing river as his friend walked away.

* * *

  
  
  
How he wound up spending three hours reading a book on markers that their forefathers used to tell others of their whereabouts, Glóin couldn't guess, but when Óin opened the latch at six, his sibling was most glad to see him.  
  
"It comes in handy having an underage brother," Óin said, ruffling his hair. "Got sent home early. Here, I got rabbit from t'butcher on the way back. Can you put it in our cupboard? This tunic is going to become permanently attached, I swear it."  
  
"Take it off in front of me and I'm moving in with Balin and Dwalin." Glóin threatened.  
  
"You're just jealous."  
  
Shoving the rabbit onto the shelf, Glóin muttered to himself, believing Óin to have disappeared to his bedroom. "Jealous. Like I'd be jealous of your saggy skin!"  
  
"OI! You little brat! I'm in my prime, here, and I'm spending it with _you_."  
  
"Prime? Is that what they're calling old age now?"  
  
"That's it!"  
  
Recalling Óin's habit of tickling him for 'cheek', Glóin backed away and tried to run, making it to the living room door before being tackled onto the thick, red rug. He tried to get away, protesting the treatment, but when he felt the maddening, yet sadly familiar, tickling over his ribs, he collapsed in giggles. Óin stopped, and stood up, grinning down at him.  
Once Glóin's laughter had subsided, he offered him a hand and hauled him back to his feet.  
  
"That was cruel!"  
  
"You accused me of being old, I put you right. It's your own fault."  
  
There was no true bite in the words and Óin swinging an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him closely for a moment did little to prove otherwise. Glóin smiled and unwittingly followed his elder brother to the living room. They'd not spent time alone together in what seemed like years and though Glóin felt like rolling his eyes when he saw the healer settle himself down with one of his 'flower books' as he liked to call them, despite his elder brother's mutters at the nickname, he sat beside him and relaxed against him.  
  
"Brother, what healing properties does arnica have?"  
  
Glóin groaned. "Ugh, why do you always ask these questions? You're a medical man, not me!"  
  
"It could come in handy. Answer the question, nadad."  
  
"Pain relief."  
  
"Good lad."  
  
"You need aronia, brother."  
  
Óin turned his head to blink at him. "Why?"  
  
"It has anti-aging properties."  
  
Óin lightly batted his head with the book. "You just wait 'til you're my age!"

* * *

  
  
  
"I saw your cousin today."  
  
Dwalin gave a halfhearted nod, looking over at the young brunette. "Which one?"  
  
"T'one who has red hair."  
  
"That's Glóin. What was he up to?"  
  
"He was looking after a baby."  
  
Dwalin nodded again. "That's alright, then."  
  
"You know that thief who's been hanging about? T'one with black hair-"  
  
"Yeah, I know him. You see him?"  
  
"Aye. He was talking with your cousin."  
  
Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

* * *

  
  
"Careful with the knife, lad."  
  
"Fusspot."  
  
Óin rolled his eyes. "Well, forgive me for not wanting you to hack one of your fingers off!"  
  
"As if I would!"  
  
"As if you wouldn't!"  
  
Óin swiftly sliced up the last of the small beasts, wordlessly thanking Aüle that it wasn't his job to hunt, kill and remove the fur off the animals. How Amad had managed to do this everyday was beyond him, it really was.  
He watched his sibling cut the potatoes into slightly wonky chunks and turned to the water-bowl to scrub the smudges of blood off his hands. Amad would be proud of her sons' attempts at cookery. At least he thought so.  
  
"Óin? What do I do now?"  
  
Wiping his hands dry on the one clean towel they had left, Óin gestured to the bubbling pot on the black stove. "Put them in there, brother. I'll get the rabbit in the cauldron."  
  
He could remember Amad allowing their help, though she firmly disallowed Glóin from ever going near sources of heat, perhaps recalling Gróin's youngest trying to make toast when he was nine. She let her eldest son do anything, however, knowing the kitchen was safe if he went near any flames.  
The only time Sannith tied her hair was when she was cooking. Their adad sometimes played with her hair, giving it a playful tug before joking, laughing with her...  
  
The rabbit gave a hissing sizzle in protest at being forgotten and Óin shook out of his memories. Covering the cauldron, he went to inspect the potatoes and then added the entire saucepan, water and all, to the meat before covering the container again.  
  
Heading back to the living room, he paused in the doorway, contemplating discussing Sannith and Gróin with Glóin. He had tried a few times, but a pained look would dominate his brother's face and he'd be forced to give up.  
  
Sensing his silent audience, Glóin looked up from the abandoned herbal book and met his brother's eyes with a well-known look of wariness.  
  
'He knows,' Óin realised. 'He knows I want to talk about them.' Then a question arose in the healer's mind. 'Why doesn't he?'  
  
There was a growing silence in which both stared at each other in thought.   
Óin was correct, Glóin certainly knew what his brother was thinking and definitely didn't want to discuss their amad and adad. He just couldn't bear to, and refused to talk about them to anyone, even Fóli.  
  
Fortunately, he was saved from any conservation by the loud thumping on the door.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was enjoyed!xx


	6. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin talks to his cousins. Óin talks with his brother and Fóli has some concerning information for Glóin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that I do love Dwalin. He's just insanely worried for his youngest cousin and is willing to do literally anything to keep him safe.

"Who's calling at this hour?" Óin muttered, turning away from the doorframe.  
  
"It's not late." Glóin pointed out. "The sun has barely set."  
  
It was true, but the year was young, just creeping into summer. Óin headed to the door, noticing by shuffling footsteps he could hear behind him, that Glóin was following.  
  
Opening the door to find his scowling cousin outside, Óin took a step back, wondering what had happened to bring such an angered look to his elder cousin.  
  
"You," Dwalin pointed an accusing finger at the eldest son of Gróin. "You! Just what did you tell me yesterday?"  
  
Óin's skin prickled as a dark pair of suspicious eyes bored into the back of his neck. "What happened, Dwalin?"  
  
"And you!" Dwalin went on, pointing at Glóin. "Going off and meeting up with the likes of that sneaky, shit-for-brains thief!"  
  
"Hey, I'm allowed to see him! Óin said so."  
  
Óin wanted the ground to swallow him. Dwalin's narrowed brown eyes and the black eyes of his brother were quite fiercely warning him to side with one of them. Óin thought desperately to himself, wanting to find a solution before one of them began snarling at the other.  
  
Then it shone on him. Whatever Adad would've done was what he must do.  
  
"I was about to talk about it," he quietly said to his cousin. "I didn't get to this morning."  
  
"See that you do."  
  
Slowly closing the door behind his cousin's retreating figure, Óin gathered all his courage and turned to face his sibling only to find he was already gone.

* * *

  
  
  
Ugh. Hang whatever Óin had to say! He wasn't going to listen to him, he decided. Absolutely not.  
  
"Come, nadad, open the door."  
  
"No."  
  
There was a fast pause. "Nadadel, let us talk."  
  
"You swore you'd give him a chance," Glóin bitterly reminded him. "You promised, Óin."  
  
"I know. Please come out, talking through a door is no way to talk."  
  
Figuring that doing as requested would get Óin to go away quicker, Glóin opened the door, though he still wasn't happy at all.  
  
"What?"  
  
Óin gave him a reproachful look. "You know to be politer than that."  
  
That was true. And the tired look in his brother's eyes had the effect of making Glóin regret it.  Though he was still unhappy with him, there was a part of him that pointed out that Óin wasn't a _bad_ brother by any means and perhaps listening to him might be a good idea.   
  
"I'm sorry, nadadith. What is it?"  
  
Óin looked relieved. "I forgive you. Come, go back down with me as to keep an eye on the pot."  
  
He did, sinking into the wooden chair by the old kitchen table and watched as Óin uncovered the stew and stirred it about, before covering it up again and taking a seat beside him.  
  
"The thing is," he said, laying his hand over Glóin's. "You aren't of age yet and there is a child stealer about."  
  
"It's not Fóli. He told me so."  
  
"He could be involved with the people who are, nadad."  
  
"I'm too old to be stolen." Glóin muttered.   
  
Óin sighed quietly. "You're still underage. Be reasonable, please. You are under my care and I don't _ever_ want to lose you."  
  
"What do you want me to do?" Glóin asked, trying his hardest to not look as downcast as he felt.  
  
Óin, who had been an older brother for sixty years too long, caught on. Shifting his chair closer to his brother's, he encircled his arms tightly around him, holding him in a comforting, if slightly awkward, embrace. Sannith had always held her sons, and her nephews too, when they were receiving bad news. If she couldn't, Gróin did and it felt strange to be doing the same to his brother when it should've been their mother or father doing it.  
  
"Avoid him. Don't initiate conversation with him."  
  
Glóin mumbled something that was muffled by his brother's shoulder. Óin carefully pulled back, holding his sibling's shoulder.   
  
"What was that, beardling?"  
  
As Óin predicted, Glóin looked distinctly sheepish. "I'd rather not repeat it."  
  
No way would Gróin or Sannith have ever allowed that answer, but Óin had cursed in front of his brother for less of a reason since their parents' deaths and he settled for a disapproving 'tsk' and lightly knocked his head against his sibling's.   
  
"When they catch the thief, I don't mind what you do," Óin said. "Well, within reason, of course."  
  
"Fóli has nothing to do with it." Glóin repeated, burying his face back into the warmth of his brother's shoulder.   
  
"I believe you, but you know that it's dangerous to be with a thief of any sort, don't you?"  
  
"Mmph."  
  
Óin patted his back. "You say he doesn't steal children, but there's a chance he knows people who do. That's why I need you to keep your distance, nadad."  
  
"Alright." Glóin agreed, though he sounded miserable. "If I must, I suppose I will."  
  
"Good lad." Óin gently bumped his head to Glóin's. "I'm sorry, you know. Continue going about with Abzunde's lads, visit Idùzhib. Don't stay alone."  
  
 _'Maybe it won't be so bad,'_ Glóin tried to convince himself. _'You're safer than the poor boy who was taken. It'll be fine.'_  
  
Both of Gróin's sons sincerely hoped it would be.

* * *

  
  
A soft knocking at the window made Glóin's left eye crack open. He and his brother had spent a very uneventful evening, the most interesting thing having happened being Óin deciding to try out a new hairstyle on his brother's hair. It had been brushed out before bedtime, which was a shame as Glóin had a suspicion that Fóli would have liked the strange braiding.  
  
Now, he blearily stumbled to the door, fiddling with the latch and carefully slid it up, meeting Fóli's sharp eyes with his tired ones.   
  
"'Lo, Fóli."  
  
"I see you've had a most exciting evening." Fóli dryly remarked. "Mind if I come in? It's perishing out here."  
  
"Where d'you even live?"  
  
"Here and there. You'd be amazed at how many people leave their windows open at night."

"Fóli, you don't..."

"You'd do the same if you were freezing your tits off." Fóli retorted. "Now, what do you know about these child stealers?"

" _Stealers_? I thought there was just one."

Fóli shook his head. "No, not just one. There's a lot children can do Little bundles of joy can be sold to couples who can't have children, for example. The older children, ones about your age-"

"My age?" Glóin repeated, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But I'm not a child."

Fóli's gaze was laced with pity. "No, you're not a _young_ child.  They do terrible things to the older children. I won't speak of it to you, it would put you off sleeping for the rest of your life, I shouldn't wonder. Just know that the adults are right to try and keep their children safe."

"But?"

"But these people _will_ do whatever they can to get what they want. And they nearly always succeed."

"Do you know them?"

It took a while, but Fóli nodded. "I do, yes. And before you ask, no. I can't stop them."

"You could tell my cousin."

"And what could he do?"

"They could find the child-stealers and take the babes back."

"Glóin, have you ever given thought to wasps?"

"...Not really. Why?"

"Well, the queen may die and we all may rejoice, believing that with the end of her reign, we'll be free of the sting of the wasps. But there's always another queen to take her place."

 

 "Are they like a kingdom?"  
  
Fóli nodded. "Of a sort. It would not do for you or your kin to become involved."  
  
"But they will. Kidnapping the babes is wrong!"  
  
"It may seem so to you who has lived a life with noble family, but not to those who have always lived with that way of life."  
  
"It is wrong. They're taking children from their parents."  
  
Fóli turned his face to the wall. "Ah. That is the thing."  
  
Glóin shivered. "You wouldn't lie, would you?"  
  
"Of course I would. An honest thief is a terrible thief." Fóli answered. Then he smiled, his beryl-green eyes softening. "But you are quite safe from the most evil of my lies."  
  
"You didn't just come to tell me about what they do, did you?"  
  
"No. I happen to know what goes through your nadad's mind."  
  
"What do you know?" Glóin asked.  
  
Fóli grinned. "Quite a bit, believe it or not. He's worried, just like all elder brothers in Ered Luin. He knows what dangerous lives that criminals lead, what people they know."  
  
Glóin trained his eyes onto the floor. "He wants me to stay away from you."  
  
"And he'd be right." Fóli said softly. "Look at me, Glóin. I'm not the right person to spend time with, not now. When the child-stealers move on, it won't be so bad, but you're making yourself vulnerable."  
  
"Would the stealers- do you know the stealers?"  
  
"I'll still be here after they're gone." Fóli said, apparently not having heard Glóin's question. "For now, we have to keep our distance."  
  
Fóli strode to the window and put his foot on the sill.   
  
"But- do you know them?" Glóin asked again.  
  
Fóli looked back and stared before lowering his head and shaking it. "I'll tell you everything when it's over."  
  
And then, without warning, he left.

 


	7. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Óin tries to talk about their dead parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zê - Khuzdul for 'first'  
> Nû - Khuzdul for 'second'  
> Gêm - Khuzdul for 'third'  
> Armâkh - Khuzdul for 'fourth'  
> Gamêkh - Khuzdul for 'fifth'

Something was bothering Glóin, Óin knew. What secrets was his brother keeping?  
  
As he ground lavender in the mortar, he pondered, quite lost in thought. When Lazula tapped his shoulder, he nearly jumped.  
  
"Óin," the silver-haired dwarrowdam said, "pray tell me what's wrong? You've ground that poor lavender into non-existence, I shouldn't wonder!"  
  
"I'm just thinking about my brother," he answered, knowing it would be a pointless exercise in refusing to tell her.  
  
"Ah. I understand you." She thumped his shoulder. "You'll be going on home in a few hours, lad, so don't worry too much."  
  
"No, he seemed...quiet this morning."  
  
"Well." Lazula paused. "Sometimes young 'uns get withdrawn after... After their parents go."  
  
"But it's been months since Adad...died."  
  
"Only six, my love, and we all grieve differently."  
  
Maybe the healing mistress was right, Óin thought. "He doesn't talk about either, you know. Clams right up when I try and bring them up."  
  
"That happens a lot." Lazula said gently. "It hurts to talk about them, I suppose."  
  
"I had to talk about them. People wanted to know whether I wanted them to be buried together or in separate coffins, what they should be buried with, would they have approved me bringing up Glóin even though I was 'barely of age'..."  
  
"Funerals are painful times."  
  
"You've brought up three children. Seen them through their sixties. Gods, I barely remember mine. But I always thought looking after kids was easy!"  
  
Lazula snorted. "Easy, my arse! It's anything but!"  
  
"You can blame my parents for that. They made it look simple." Óin said. "I don't know. He's not like one of those bratty little bastards, yet I feel I'm undoing all my parents' good work with every day that passes without them."  
  
"You're doing fine. He's not in trouble, he's not doing anything too bad. I give you, that Fóli raised alarm bells..."  
  
"You don't know the half of it. But we talked last night and he said that he's going to avoid Fóli until the baby-stealers are caught."  
  
Lazula gave an approving nod. "Good. Give us the lavender, would you?"  
  
He passed her the wooden bowl. "Miss Lazula, d'you think it'd be worth trying to get him to talk about Amad and Adad?"  
  
She thought for a short while. "Try to," she recommended. "Sometimes tears help, Óin. Have either of you cried yet?"  
  
"I don't know if he has, but I don't want to be the one to make him."  
  
"You'd be helping him, not bullying him."  
  
"I don't want him to be upset."  
  
"Aye, but he needs that release. It helps with the grieving process."  
  
"I wish they hadn't died. Being _gêmadad_ is... It's.."  
  
"Challenging?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You love your brother, don't you?"  
  
"I adore that little shite. You know I do. In honesty, I'm terrified about the child-thieves. Scared that one day they might come for him and I'll lose him."  
  
"We all look after the children, Óin. All of us. You aren't alone. Just keep doing what you're doing."  
  
"Ta, ma'am."  
  
"And I need you to shred the mint for me."  
  
Óin nodded, shooting her a smile. "I can do that."

* * *

  
  
At first, Glóin had gone out, wandering aimlessly around before growing so bored (and hungry) that he returned to the house.  
Adad would have spent the morning down the Training Hall with him. Perhaps Gróin would have challenged Dwalin to a fight and the two would return in cheerful spirits.   
Amad liked to read and sat with her eldest, teaching him all she knew about herbs and astronomy. Often, she beckoned her youngest over when Óin wasn't there, and would spend several hours teaching him about constellations.   
  
The house was filed with reminders. Adad's pipe was presumably still on their bedside table, in the bedroom that Glóin refused to even acknowledge. Amad's candles sat, dusty with disuse, on the mantelpiece which bore Gróin's tinderbox and Sannith's tiny bronze vase.   
  
Then there was the furniture. Gróin's padded red chair which he'd kept so close to the fireplace, his family feared he'd immolate himself, now stood in a corner, a yellow cushion, embroided with black stitching perched on top. Sannith had enjoyed decorating things and had unfinished the cushion which her sons found unbearably sad.  
  
But he disliked staying in these melancholy moods. Neither Gróin nor Sannith would have allowed it. He glared into the pages of Óin's textbook, though the words bored him, and forced all thoughts of his dead parents from his mind.  
  
He heard the lock turn and the latch lift and hurled the book away, glad to be free of it.   
  
"Brother? Is that you?"

* * *

  
  
"You alright?" Óin called, shutting the door and locking it, mindful of the stealers.   
  
"Aye. Do you want to play Golden Dice?"  
  
Óin chuckled. "You're far too good at that game, Glóin. I recall Adad losing twelve pieces to you!"  
  
He didn't expect an answer for what had happened with Gróin, truly, and wasn't surprised when Glóin answered with: "D'you want to play dominoes, then?"  
  
What Óin really wanted was to put Lazula's advice to the test, but he wasn't quite sure how to begin it. He didn't answer and Glóin shuffled out to see him a few minutes later, looking worried for him.  
  
"Nadad, are you alright?"  
  
"Mmm. Go and sit, lad, I'll be there in a minute."  
  
He put the kettle on the fire to give himself something to do and thought of how to bring Gróin and Sannith up.  
  
What if Glóin tried to walk away?  
  
What if he said the wrong thing?  
  
What if Glóin-?  
  
Bubbles shot violently to the surface of now steaming water, interrupting Óin's thoughts. Splashing it into two mugs, he added the tea and watched the liquid darken.   
  
He bet Balin never had this problem.  
  
He probably should ask.  
  
When he met his brother, having half-made his mind up about what he would say, Glóin was asleep.  
Or at least pretending to.  
  
Tugging a lock of auburn, he said, louder than strictly necessary, "open your eyes, you daft bugger!"  
  
Glóin did and smirked proudly, gently pulling on a tress of Óin's lighter hair in retaliation. "I thought you'd never come!"  
  
Óin smiled halfheartedly in response and gave Glóin his mug.   
  
"Are you alright, nadad?"  
  
"Yeah. Um, do you want to talk about Amad and Adad?"  
  
Glóin's response was placing his mug down, gazing thoughtfully into space and then standing before placing a foot forward.  
  
Óin grabbed his wrist. "Don't go. Please."  
  
"I don't want to, Óin." Glóin said, looking miserably at his brother.  
  
"We can't avoid talking about them forever..."  
  
"Óin! No. No, no, no. Now, get off!"  
  
This was going the exact way Óin had thought it would, unfortunately. Still, maybe if he tried, they could have a conversation about Gróin and Sannith. "Why don't you?"  
  
"Why do you think?!" Glóin snapped. "Let go!"  
  
"Does it make you angry, sad-?"  
  
"Stop! Just stop. I don't want to talk about them! And let go!"  
  
 _'What would Adad do?'_ Óin thought desperately. _'Oh, cruel Mahal to have taken him!'_  
  
"I'm sorry," he said after a good minute of feeling utterly helpless. "I just think it'd help to-"  
  
"Help? Help what? Talking about them won't- they'll still- oh, let go of me!"  
  
Óin did, laying his hand in the palm of its twin. "We haven't talked about them. Don't you think we should?"  
  
"If you want to talk about them, _gêmadad_  , find our cousins. I cannot talk about them."  
  
Óin flinched at the tone of the single Dwarvish word contained in his brother's small speech. "I see."  
  
Onyx eyes met his equally dark ones. "You're disappointed."  
  
"No." Óin stood and slid his arm around his brother's smaller shoulders."Of course I'm not. Don't ever say that."  
  
"D'you think Adad would be angry?"  
  
"No. He didn't speak of Uncle Fundin 'til months after Azanulbizar, remember?"  
  
Glóin lay his head on Óin's shoulder. "Mm. I remember."

* * *

  
  
Za- Khûz-Dul for "first".  
  
Nû- Khûz-Dul for "second".  
  
\- Khûz-Dul for "third".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have a theory about Dwarven childcare:  
> The father of a dwarf is called his adad, as you know, but the formal name is Zêadad, meaning 'First Father' because he is the one who was there first.  
> The uncle would be called Nûadad, because he's the 'second father'.  
> The elder brother would be called Gêmadad, because he's the 'third father'.  
> The elder cousin would be called Armâkhadad, because he's the 'fourth father'.  
> I think that they would prefer to place orphaned children with younger relations, so the grandfather would be called Gamêkhadad, because he is the 'fifth father'.
> 
> Similarly:
> 
> Mother: Zêamad  
> Aunt: Nûamad  
> Older Sister: Gêmamad  
> Older Cousin: Armâkhamad  
> Grandmother: Gamêkhamad
> 
> When Glóin calls Óin 'gêmadad', he's saying so ultra-sarcastically because he's an annoyed teenager who finds talking about his parents too painful and doesn't appreciate Óin trying to make him talk.
> 
> As Óin is of age, he's got the responsibility of looking after his nadadith for at least a decade. And then you have said nadadith thinking he's OK to look after himself.
> 
> Now, I know it's difficult to think of these two as young. So, I'll share with you my thoughts:
> 
> Glóin is pretty small, and he's still skinny like all young Dwarves are before they fill out with muscle. He has a beard, but it just reaches his chest and he's still got stubble on his cheeks. Said beard is oft plaited to keep it neat. His hair is long, I couldn't picture him without it being long, and reaches mid-shoulder. It has one braid on each side which are kept in place with a silver hairbead.   
> If you look, both he and Balin wear red in the movies. My headcanon is that he respects the hell out of his older cousin and wants to be like him, hence the clothing. So, he wears dark red a lot, but due to certain reasons that shall later be revealed, he prefers to stay away from red at the moment and wears black more.
> 
> Then there's Óin.  
> I read a fic once which had him with ash-blonde hair. I wish I could remember the title and author, because that was an epic story. So, I have him with ash-blonde hair which was inherited from his mother, Sannith. He looks like her the most, has her hair, eyes, nose, etc, but he does have his father's sense of protectiveness to his family. (Oh, boy, will that become apparent later!) I think he probably had hair similar to his future nephew, Gimli, with the heavy moustache plaits dangling either side of an impressive beard. He likes to keep his hair back and neat and braided to try and give off a 'I'm the perfect person to care for a teenager' vibe.  
> I can't imagine him in anything but grey. I don't know why, but there you go. So, he wears a pale grey tunic usually because it's like his work-outfit


	8. The Pain of Olùmil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olùmil argues with Idùzhib. Dori fears for his mother.

"Amad, must you go?"  
  
"Love, I'm not going yet." Idùzhib gently reminded her son.   
  
"But it's so dangerous.."  
  
"I know." Idùzhib interrupted, laying a placating hand on her son's shoulder. "Sweetling, I realise that, but-"  
  
"Let me come with you."  
  
"No."  
  
Dori looked at his mother's serious face and tried to think of a way to persuade her. "If someone attacks you, you'd be hurt terribly at least. You need somebody with you, Amad. Maybe, if you asked...."  
  
Idùzhib snorted. "I asked for help with finding Nori the hour I discovered he was gone. What help came for me?"  
  
That was hideously unfair. Dori found it hard to look into the molten silver of his mother's eyes and cleared his throat. "Amad, they tried their best, you know they did. Please, just ask for help. You cannot do this on your own!"  
  
"I can if I try." Idùzhib muttered, though she now looked thoughtful. Finally, she slumped her shoulders. "Perhaps I might ask. They likely won't approve, mind."  
  
"You never know." Dori said.  
  
"I know everything." Idùzhib retorted, smiling fondly at him. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "My precious son. You'll love Nori."  
  
"I can't remember him." Dori confessed.  
  
She released him and gave him a sad smile. "You were ten years of age, love. I don't doubt you remember nothing. But soon we'll have him back home and safe."

* * *

  
  
Idùzhib and Olùmil had been gone a terribly long time. Idùzhib had grabbed her fiancé and left immediately after supper, and time was getting on. He rather wanted to see what the verdict was and stayed up, watching the sky go from a bright blue to a dark black dotted with bright white stars from his bedroom window.   
  
It was around ten o'clock when the door opened and the clump of Olùmil's boots and the tap of Idùzhib's boots destroyed any silence. There was a quiet argument going on too.  
  
"I don't care." Idùzhib whispered. "Those bastards can-"  
  
"You mustn't call them that! Ghivashel, they know, as do you, the dangers of the forest."  
  
" _There is a child out there!_ " Idùzhib practically shrieked, shattering the silence. "A child! Do you know how many hours of labour I went through bringing him into this world?! Twelve! _Why won't they help?!_ "  
  
Another pause. Olùmil began speaking again, what little Dori could hear revealed a pleading tone, but Idùzhib was talking too, and it was clear she would not be backing down.

"No, stop. I'm going to find my son," Idùzhib spoke breathlessly. 

"Don't you see?" Olùmil said desperately. "In your desire to find your youngest, you're pushing aside your eldest as though he-"

_SLAP!_

"Don't you dare! I love both my children. I would kill for either. If it was your son, you would do the same!"

"It's been nearly sixty years..."

"Don't. Shut up!"

"Iddy, he won't remember-"

The sound of Olùmil trying his best to gently inform Idùzhib of the short-term memories of babes swirled through Dori's mind and he closed his eyes, turning away from his bedroom door and shutting it with a soft _click_.   
Olùmil wasn't trying to be cruel. Cruelty was not in his nature. But he knew what Dori and Idùzhib refused to think about - that Nori undoubtedly didn't know he had them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is precisely that :/ I'm very sorry indeed, but for my life, I couldn't write Idùzhib battling it out with Dwalin. Everything I did made them OOC! So, I've finished up with this. What do you think is happening with Nori? I'd love to hear your ideas!


	9. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets a fright. Óin finds himself needed by Glóin and Idùzhib wins her battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juzrâl - Khuzdul for 'priest'.

"Rise and shine!"

"I'd rather sink and tarnish." Glóin moaned, pushing his face into his pillow. "Why do Prayers have to begin so early?"

"It's _once_ a _month_ , child. The least you can do is thank Mahal for creating you. Wake up!"

And with that,  Óin ripped the blanket off his sibling, much to Glóin's horrified disapproval.

"I don't like you anymore."

Óin only smiled mildly in response. "I'll do you a mug if you want."

"Maybe you're not so bad." Glóin decided, catching his brother's eye and grinning. "What's the time?"

"Around six, I make it."

" _Six_? That's a stupid time to awaken people. I bet Mahal isn't awake right now..."

"Are you going to get up or do I _literally_ have to drag you out of bed?"

 Glóin swung his legs over the bed  and stretched. "There. I'm up."

"Thank you. I'll be downstairs if you need me."

This would be the first Praise Day without Adad. The last three with him had been quiet and dismal and the hurt of Sannith's passing had been highlighted among the cheer in the hymns sung to Mahal for gifting them their lives.

Maybe talking about Gróin and Sannith wouldn't be so bad. 

* * *

They ended up being perhaps a few minutes behind schedule, but Óin thought that wasn't so bad, all things considered. It hadn't been much of a trial to get his brother looking neater than he had with his chronic bedhead that morning, so he called the morning quite the success.

"Ugh. Hang on."

Turning, Óin saw Glóin drop to a knee and frowned. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Lace came untied. D'you want to go on? I'll catch up to you in no time."

"Right. I'm taking the shortcut. See you there, nadad."

The Temple was barely a minute's walk away and that was easily halved by taking the shortcut through the alley. Óin promised to explain the situation to their  _juzrâl_ and watched his brother for as long as he could before the wall vanished him from sight.

* * *

Lace tied, Glóin  stood. Without warning a strange sense, one of immense dread drenched him and he placed his hand in his coat pocket, placing a finger to the handle of the small knife that his sibling now insisted he carry everywhere. He took a step forward and then heard the unmistakable slap of leather on stone.

Someone was behind him. 

"Who is it?"

 "You shouldn't be on your own, _child_."

 The voice sent icy shoots of fear up Glóin's spine. He grabbed the hilt of the knife, almost trembling, and ran to the gap in houses that led to the Temple. The dark-grey stone provided him a divided view of the white Temple which became larger the more he ran. His pursuer was close behind him, but he was close to the Temple... very close...

He managed to take a few steps out of the alley before his hair was grabbed roughly and he was pulled back. Panicking, he began calling for help.

"Get off, you bastard! Help!"

The last call for help was cut off midway as his attacker squeezed a powerful arm around his throat. Dark circles danced in his vision as the gravelly voice rumbled, "'Bastard' is a crude term, beardling."

"No! Not that one!"

The new voice distracted the attacker so that he relaxed his hold. Glóin fumbled for his knife, but barely drew it out when a force tore him and his attacker apart. Collapsing, he turned onto his back, determined to see who it was that had tried to capture him, but he found his eyes were sore and he blinked, keeping his eyes closed for several seconds. When he again opened them, he was amazed at who he saw.

"Fóli."

Misty green eyes, usually so emotionless, seemed now to be filled to the brim with uncertainty and regret. "Glóin, listen, I can explain."

Pushing himself backwards with his legs,  Glóin  shook his head fiercely. "No. No, you can't. You- I didn't want to believe you could be involved with such a thing..."

Fóli was following him, his hands held up. "I'm really not. I know it looks bad, but really..."

Recalling the weapon hidden in his pocket, Glóin  located it and grasped it once more. "Stay away, Fóli. _Stay away_."

Fóli stepped forward, his eyes trained on  Glóin. "You must understand.."

The closeness seemed  stifling and  Glóin  snatched the knife from his pocket and got to his feet, though he wobbled. "I have killed scum before. Don't think I won't kill you after all you and _they_ have done-"

"Let me explain."

"Keep away."

"You're not going to stab me."

"'Not that one'. Have favourites, do you?"

"Glóin, I am _not_ a child thief."

"You must be." Fóli  tried to move closer and Glóin tensed, holding the knife tighter. "Stay back!"

"No, I-"

"I think," growled a new voice, "that you would do well to obey, Fóli." 

Glóin  wondered how long this newcomer had been there, but didn't truly care.

Help had come at last.

* * *

 

A dwarrowdam truly was one of Mahal's kindest gifts. Particularly when two decided to offer their service in watching over a shell-shocked youngling who'd barely escaped being taken by stealers.

Lady  Idùzhib gave Dwalin many a pointed look while escorting his youngest cousin back home, as did Lady Dís, which made Dwalin scowl at Thorin a bit. 

He'd told him that in confidence.

Now, he turned his attention to Fóli  and cracked his knuckles a bit to get his attention. The arrogant little toerag was sitting back on the cold stone bench, his elbows resting on the granite table as though he was utterly bored. Balin, standing beside his brother, was giving Fóli  the exact same look that one might give a feral cat who'd scratched a prized coat to pieces. Óin, who'd insisted on staying in case things got violent so he could get a hit in, was giving  Fóli  such an evil look that Dwalin actually felt something akin to fear when he looked at him.

And Thorin was just watching the thief.

"You've become quite the celebrity, Master Fóli." Thorin eventually spoke. "Quite well-known, you are, for your _talents_."   

"It wasn't I who attacked Glóin. Astounding as it may be to you, thieves do have honour."

"Not you." Dwalin snarled.

"What do you know of the babes?" Balin asked, crossing his arms and staring at the raven-haired dwarf.

"What babes?"

"You know very well what babes." Thorin snapped, glaring at Fóli with such force that Dwalin feared his skull would burst before the truth could be revealed.

"Oh, the ones you lot have been foolish enough to lose."

" _We_ _did not_ _lose_ _them_. _You_ stole them." Balin snapped. 

"How good a thief do you think I am?" Fóli asked, raising an eyebrow in semi-interest. "I could no more steal a child than your friend here could grow hair on his head."

"Answer me this, what the _hell_ were you doing with my brother?" Óin demanded. 

"I was going to explain to him." Fóli answered. 

"Explain what?"

"Everything."

* * *

 

She hadn't actually looked, but Idùzhib was willing to bet that there was bruising on Glóin's neck. She'd seen the size of the brute who'd attacked him as he'd groggily staggered to his feet before collapsing again.

He had muscles to rival Dwalin's.

The Princess was beside him, watching him rather closely. She had a hand on his quaking shoulder and yet to say a single word. Her clear blue eyes were watchful, though, and concerned which made her instantly trustworthy in the older woman's eyes.

"My brother shakes like this sometimes." the Princess quietly spoke. "He gets frightened, too."

Jerkily, Glóin brought his hand up, finding the one of the Princess and then swiftly bringing it away again. "When?"

The Princess' hair fell to hide her face as she looked at her distant cousin. "More than you'd think. Particularly when he found out about the children-stealers."

"It's my fault."

Both women exchanged surprised glances.  Idùzhib went to sit beside him and took his hand. His shaking lessened and he allowed himself to hold her hand, but the vacant look in his eyes remained. "How is it your fault, love?"

"I saw him two nights ago. He- he said things that made it sound like he was involved, but I..I should've said-"

"It wasn't _you_ who took the babies." the Princess softly reminded him. "Aye, you should've said, but no harm has come from it. We have him now."

"Thought I was gonna die."

He and them all. There had been a blip of silence before the first hymn and then they'd heard the cries for help which had alerted Dwalin who'd arrived outside just in time to witness the redhead being grabbed.

It hadn't taken a genius to work out just what was going on.

"You're safe." Idùzhib told him. "You're safe, lad."

In the distance, the latch squeaked as it was lifted and clunked as it was allowed to fall back down. Glóin tensed, his dark eyes suddenly alert and watchful, his shivers still wracking his body. Rumbles of familiar voices soothed him and soothed those quivers away.

"I still don't know what's wrong with tortu- Oh."

Sensing that the two siblings needed each other now, the Princess lifted her hand and took her eyes off Glóin and walked away, stopping to gently grasp Óin's shoulder as if in greeting.

It was sad that the three members of kin were so distant with each other.  Idùzhib had heard from Sannith tales of how Thráin and Gróin and Fundin had been friendly with each other and to see their descendents barely knowing how to interact with the other made her shake her head.

"I'll leave you two to it," she said, standing and following the Princess.

* * *

"Master Dwalin."

"Lady  Idùzhib."

"Did that little knob tell you anything?"

"He eventually deigned to mention a forest not far from here where we may find the 'true masterminds' as he called them."

"So, you will go?"

"We will. Look, I feel you and I got off on the wrong foot last we saw the other. It's not that we don't care for this one child."

 Idùzhib bowed her head. "Aye. T'was a bit unfair of me, I suppose."

"We are going, but I need you to stay here with your boys."

"Why should I stay behind?"

"Because there are a great many terrible things that we may see." Dwalin answered. "And I don't wish to risk you seeing them, my lady."

"People always said that Nori looked like his tit of a father. But he had my hair."

"Right. I'll look out for a little auburn-haired lad."

"When you return, you _must_ tell me what you see."

Dwalin nodded. "Don't expect me to not censor certain things." he warned. "Mahal, when I think how close..."

Idùzhib stood on her toes and patted his shoulder. "He's safe, lad. Go on and see him. I'd better go back to my family and let them know what's going on."

* * *

 

 


	10. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin finds out new information regarding the young thief in his cells. Fóli has a visitor and Glóin has a conversation of sorts with Gróin.

 

Dwalin couldn't bring himself to question his cousin. Lad looked tired, pale, afraid and the warrior had a terrible feeling that Óin would kill him if he even sounded like he was about to ask Glóin anything.  
  
Thorin, on the other hand, had no such qualms.  
  
"Do you know the person who grabbed you?"  
  
Balin shook his head as Dwalin raised his eyebrows and shook his head frantically. Óin, predictably, was less than pleased.  
  
"Thorin," Óin growled. "Begin your personal inquisition tomorrow!"  
  
"No. It's best to learn things now. Glóin?"  
  
Their redhead was looking confused, narrowing his dark eyes as though trying to recall what had just been said. Dwalin looked pointedly at Thorin.  
  
"I doubt he'll be alright to answer, Thorin. Ask later."  
  
"The memory will still be fresh.."  
  
"I don't think he'll ever forget!" Óin snapped. "Would you?"  
  
"Well, no, but..."  
  
Thorin was interrupted by a small sigh. "Ye gods," Óin muttered. "You inherited your grandfather's looks and your da's brains."  
  
Thorin looked as though he didn't know whether to be pleased or not. Dwalin rumbled something under his breath and gave Óin a stern look.  
  
"Well, now, there's no need for sass." Balin chided, though he certainly looked amused. "Dwalin, why don't you get Thorin back to the Holding Halls? I'll see you later."  
  
Dwalin nodded, giving his cousins a last searching look as he led the Prince away.

* * *

  
  
  
Glóin felt like he was awakening from a bad dream when he became aware of the fact that he was safely nestled between his elder brother and his eldest cousin. He wasn't cold, but he shivered and one of them tucked something warm and soft around him.  
  
"How are you feeling, lad?"  
  
"My head hurts."  
  
"Your head? Whereabouts?" Óin asked.  
  
"Scalp." The recollection of his hair being sharply yanked tore through Glóin's mind and he crossed his arms, hugging himself tightly. "Did...did he pull anything out?"  
  
"Nothing's missing." Balin promised him. "Your family braids are quite safe."  
  
Glóin released an arm and slid his fingers through his red tresses, relaxing upon finding the familiar, thin plaits that had been woven into his hair by Sannith and Gróin. "I should've listened to you." Glóin murmured, tightly grasping his hands together.   
  
"You weren't to know what he was up to." Óin told him, bringing their foreheads close.   
  
But he had known. He'd known that Fóli was up to something, he'd known that Fóli was involved. If he'd said, none of this would have happened.  
  
Why hadn't he said?   
  
"It was my fault," the 62-year-old found himself saying, bowing his head. "It was my fault."  
  
The two older males exchanged confused looks.   
  
Quite gently, Óin patted his shoulder in an attempt to be comforting. "No, lad, it's not your fault, not at all. It's mine, I shouldn't have left you, however briefly I thought it would be-"  
  
"No, you...it is my fault."  
  
Another look was exchanged. Then Balin deigned to speak.  
  
"How exactly," asked he,"is it your fault?"  
  
Glóin wanted to tell them, but the notion, the thought of looking either in the eye and confessing that he'd held a suspicion was horrifically daunting and the words for it wouldn't leave his lips. He could tell both were watching him and gave the briefest of glances toward the door, pondering running away, away from the questions, away from his kin and far, far away from the gnawing guilt inside him.  
  
Strong arms tightened themselves around him and in no time he found himself breathing in the scent of tobacco and dusty books that only belonged to his eldest of both his cousins. He'd grown up with the comforting essence, Balin having been more like a second older brother to him than a cousin. His cousin's greying beard was tickling him, but he didn't care about it.   
  
"Come on," Balin said in a coaxing manner. "Tell us, laddie."  
  
"You'll be upset with me."  
  
"No, we won't. No one will, but you must tell us what it is."  
  
The words still refused to arrive. As Glóin struggled, he nearly broke down as Óin carefully turned down the neck of his tunic, gentle fingers tracing the soreness around his throat. Not because it hurt, but because how many others had been taken that same way? What if it was currently happening again right now? What even happened to those children, aside from what Fóli had told him?   
  
"Are you having a hard time making words?" Balin asked.  
  
Dumbly, Glóin nodded. He knew what would be coming next and pressed his face into his cousin's shoulder as though trying to hide.  
  
Balin patted his back. "Is there something you know?"  
  
Óin was resting his hands on his brother's shoulders. As Glóin nodded, he gently squeezed them.  
  
Balin's hand crept to his cousin's head and began stroking his hair. "About something or someone?"  
  
Barely managing to whisper "both", Glóin turned his head and pressed his ear to Balin's chest. He could hear his heart beating, steadily and strong.  
  
"I see. This someone, is it Fóli?"  
  
Glóin nodded in answer, focusing more on his cousin's heartbeat.  
  
"Ah. Has he told you anything to do with the babes?"  
  
Glóin shrugged. In honesty, he only knew that Fóli knew the child-stealers. Balin tsked, displeased with the answer.  
  
"We'll need a slightly better answer than that, lad." Óin pointed out.  
  
Glóin slowly nodded.   
  
"Did you only find out today?"   
  
Glóin stilled completely. He knew he had, almost as though he'd frozen solid from a blast of ice than a simple question.   
They were going to be so angry. Livid. He should've said, he should have told them... What was Óin going to say? What were they all going to say?  
  
"Glóin? Have you only just-"  
  
"No."  
  
"'No' what?"  
  
He had to get out. Balin was using The Voice. He would hit the roof, he would be disappointed and angered and saddened, oh Mahal, he had to get out...  
It was too bad for his plans that he had his older brother behind him.

* * *

  
  
He should have stopped Balin the minute he started that bloody guessing game. If he had, perhaps he wouldn't have his terrified brother quaking in his arms. But, in truth, he'd been curious and was rather impressed that Glóin felt he could answer the questions and didn't want to stop him.   
The questioning ended fairly abruptly, it could be said. Certainly, his dear nadad had risen so quickly that Óin barely had time to register it 'til Glóin had journeyed halfway across the living-room.  
  
Little brothers could certainly move quickly when they wanted.  
  
"Right," Balin said. "I'd better go and see where Dwalin's gotten to. Will you be alright?"  
  
"Yeah," Óin answered, tucking a lock of red behind his brother's ear. "Only... You wouldn't mind coming back tonight, would you?"  
  
"No, it'll be fine."  
  
"Tell Dwalin he's not to ask any questions." Óin called as their cousin left. There was a confirming shout and the front door closed.   
  
"Alright, lad. Can I see how your neck is?"  
  
Glóin shuddered and gave a protesting wriggle at the question. Clearly, the thought of being touched around his neck was not something Glóin particularly cared for. Still, Óin gently persisted until Glóin eventually decided to pull down his tunic in order to reveal purple bruising clustered around his throat like a dull amethyst necklace.  
  
Óin stared. He'd done that, he was the one to blame for the marks. He'd nearly lost his little brother due to his own stupidity. Would it really have been so hard to stay with him for ten seconds while he tied his lace properly?  
  
"Nadad?"  
  
Óin forced himself to look at his younger sibling. Worried black eyes peered anxiously into the onyx-black depths of his own. Small hands scrabbled for his, their dorsal-sides still uncovered by hair.   
He may have been a mere decade off from becoming of age, but Glóin really did look very young.  
  
"Óin?"  
  
"How did you get him off?"  
  
"I didn't. Fóli did."  
  
At the mention of Fóli's name, Óin scowled heavily. If he he ever heard that scumbag say his brother's name, he'd personally castrate him.  
  
"Brother, did...did the thug touch anything he shouldn't?"  
  
Glóin touched the damaged skin on his neck. Shaking his head, Óin carefully grabbed his hands and held them tightly.   
  
"No, no. Anywhere that shouldn't be touched."  
  
Glóin shook his head now, beginning to tremble again. Óin couldn't bear it. Mumbling something even he couldn't hear, he rose and staggered out of the room, leaving his brother behind.

* * *

  
  
  
To be frank, Balin had somewhat suspected something like this would happen. One sat by himself, clutching his ash-blonde head in his hand, the other presumably where he'd been left in another room.  
  
Óin never had been good at letting Glóin see his 'weak' moments.  
  
"Well, now. What's bothering you, lad?"  
  
The face hidden by a curtain of dark blonde groaned something inaudible.   
  
"What's that?"  
  
"I'm failing at this. What kind of gêmadad lets his brother nearly get stolen? I'm not cut out for this, cousin."  
  
"Oh, come now. Don't berate yourself, laddie. You weren't to know.."  
  
"I should've stayed with him. I should've just waited, it wouldn't have taken him any time to retie his bootlace! Anything could've happened to him. He could have been sold into slavery or prostitution, he could've been murdered or..or raped."  
  
"Yes. It was very dangerous, but it wasn't your fault. You know you are not a bad brother, despite all the wicked things you are undoubtedly telling yourself, don't you?"  
  
Óin shrugged. "I don't know what to do," he miserably announced. "What can I do?"  
  
"Well, you can start by going back to him and making sure he's better."  
  
Óin stood, shoving back his chair. "I tell you, Balin, I wish I'd ordered Glóin to stop seeing him and held my ground about it."  
  
"I know. But he knows now that Fóli can't be trusted."  
  
'At what cost, though?' Óin wondered to himself. Sighing, he drove a hand through his ash-blonde tresses. "I wish Da was still here. He'd know what to do."  
  
"Have either of you visited your parents yet?"  
  
"No." Óin admitted. "I know we should, they were our parents, but...we just can't yet."  
  
"You visited your amad."  
  
"We had Da with us. We go to them and their passing becomes real."  
  
Balin said nothing, but lay a hand on his younger cousin's shoulder, offering quiet understanding.  
  
"Balin, after... After Uncle Fundin passed, how did you get Dwalin to talk about him?"  
  
"I didn't get him to. He just did."  
  
Óin glanced in the direction of the living-room, frowning. "But, he doesn't-"  
  
"I think that's just the way he grieves. Your father was the same."  
  
"Sometimes I think he's forgotten that they're dead."  
  
Balin hmmed. "Well, I don't think he has. He was there for the funeral, after all."  
  
Óin nearly shuddered. "I still have nightmares about that bloody day."  
  
Balin snorted. "That I don't doubt. It was a long day for all of us."  
  
"I'll never forget that fellow asking if Glóin was going to go to you. I could've smashed his head in, insinuating I couldn't look after my own brother, the swarmy git." Óin sniffed. "And he wasn't even feckin' wrong!"  
  
"Óin, stop it." Balin ordered, wagging a warning finger at him. "I'll not have you saying things like that. Do you think Miss Ilinh was a bad mother to have her babe stolen?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And is Lady Idùzhib a bad mother?"  
  
"Oh, no!"  
  
"Are you a bad brother?"  
  
Óin paused, trying to think. It was far too clear what Balin thought and he cleared his throat and tried to look anywhere but the dazzling blue of Balin's eyes. Time passed, during which Balin crossed his arms and Óin desperately tried to find a way in which he could truthfully answer without angering his cousin when suddenly the padding shuffle of slippered feet on smooth stone caught his attention.  
  
Clearly he'd neglected his brother too long, though he'd only left him for ten minutes.  
  
A light nudge on his arm, the way Glóin stayed so close to him, a subtle show of trust had Óin wrapping his arms around his brother's thin frame.   
One day, Óin wouldn't be able to tower over him as he did. One day, Glóin would be so strong with muscle that being able to encase him like this would be nigh on impossible.  
One day, Glóin might want to talk about Gróin and Sannith after all, and Óin would be there for him.  
One day, Óin might recall the time he was simply Glóin's brother and nothing more.  
  
But now he was his gêmadad. And why was he his gêmadad?   
  
'You are all I have left and I don't ever want to lose you'  
  
Because they'd known to trust him with his brother. They'd known he would care for him, protect him or die trying. And that was true.   
  
Glóin was safe, Glóin was alive and unhurt..apart from the bruising, but that would heal.  
  
Was he a good brother? He was obviously thought to be by Glóin. Balin wasn't telling him otherwise.   
  
A bad brother would have thrown his younger sibling out. A bad brother would hurt or upset his little brother or sister. A bad brother wouldn't care.  
  
Óin had done none of those things.  
  
Looking up from his view of Glóin's vermilion-shaded hair, Óin caught Balin's ever-watchful eye before glancing at his brother and then back to their cousin and nodded.  
  
Balin smiled approvingly.

* * *

 

Dwalin hadn't slept in his uncle's house for over a decade. He'd gazed thoughtfully at the door that had once been the entrance for Gróin and Sannith's bedroom. The place both had died in. The place that had turned his younger cousin into a gêmadad and his youngest cousin practically mute for a month.

  
It hadn't been a particularly happy year.   
  
He moved himself onto his back and bent his legs so that he could barely see the door in the night's dim light and almost smiled at the knowledge that their zûadad and zûamad hadn't changed a thing since their nephews had flown the nest.   
  
His sharp ears caught a creaking next door. He waited for Óin, studying away downstairs, to come up the stairs to sort his brother out, but no one came.  
  
Glóin's door opened.  
  
Dwalin lay his legs back down and stared at the door. He could hear the padding sound of bare feet coming closer and then stopping.  
  
Then, without warning, the familiar sound of their aunt and uncle's door opening filled Dwalin's ears.

* * *

  
  
First of all, Glóin's dream hadn't been so bad. Then he'd found himself in an unfamiliar setting. It was cold and damp and dark and he'd been calling for his brother and turned without reason to, only to see his father standing there, watching him out of those brilliant blue eyes.  
  
"I did wrong somewhere. Never thought I'd raise a coward!"  
  
And he'd only been able to meekly whisper 'Adad' for what seemed like hours as Gróin berated and cursed him.  "Please!" he'd cried at one point. "I don't know how!"  
  
"Amad is disappointed in you."  
  
"No," he'd choked out, sobs beginning to shake his body. "No, no, no..."  
  
He'd awoken, his own sobs and his father's quiet accusations tormenting him still and then he'd gotten up, not even wincing at the burning cold that attacked his bare feet and walked, unthinking, to the door that had hidden Gróin from the world.  
  
Now, he stared around. The red curtains were still open, casting the moon's crisp light into the room. The undertakers had left the bed as though Gróin had simply gotten up and left. Sannith's hair beads of silver, though one was gold and bore a red gem, lay scattered over the table they used to sit at to brush their hair. Their wedding rings lay, barely touching, on Gróin's bedside cabinet.   
  
Walking closer to his mother's side, he spotted her comb, the runes for her name etched into the wood from last Mother's Day. Gróin's hairbrush had his name in runes, too.  
  
'A pair, we are,' Sannith had said, lightly tugging her husband's hair. "Together, no matter what.'  
  
And that was why Gróin died. Unable to bear the thought of living without his wife, he'd faded away, leaving his children behind. Anger squeezed Glóin's heart. Why had Adad left them? He said he'd loved them. Didn't he love them enough to stay with them? If he was alive- if he was alive, the guilt and worry eating his youngest and tormenting his eldest wouldn't be existent.   
  
Seizing the comb, he hurled it across the room. It clattered onto the table, sending Sannith's beads scattering on the wooden floor.   
  
If Amad hadn't died, Gróin would still be alive.  
  
But she was his mother. The woman who'd protected him, cared for him, comforted him, done her best to be fair when disciplining him, she'd loved him. And he did love her. It hadn't been her fault. His poor amad.  
  
Kneeling by her side of the bed, he clumsily grasped the thick blanket and drew in a ragged breath. Memories of peeking up at his sleepy mother and demanding cuddles assaulted his mind and this time, the sobbing was real.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered, trembling as he gripped her side of the quilt. "Please forgive me, I'm so sorry..."  
  
A large pair of hands grasped his shoulders and Glóin nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning swiftly, he noted, with some relief, that it was simply his cousin who had decided to grab him with no forewarning.  
  
"Easy, lad. It's alright..."  
  
"D-Dwalin." Glóin murmured. "I threw Amad's comb."

* * *

  
He sounded so miserable when he confessed this bit of information that Dwalin didn't have the heart to tease him about it. Instead, he growled something about Sannith understanding and let his cousin hang tightly onto him as he tried to get his breathing under control.  
  
"I- I knew, Dwalin. I knew. I knew he knew them, I'm sorry..."  
  
"Shh. Breathe properly before you try talking." Dwalin instructed, though he was interested in his cousin's words. "That's it, breathe."  
  
"He said he knew them, I'm sorry, I should have told you, I'm sorry."  
  
"Shh. Don't speak, breathe."

"Dwal', I'm sorry..."  
  
"Shh. Breathe for me, little cousin. That's it, take it slowly, now.."  
  
One of Glóin's hands was firmly entangled in Dwalin's hair. As his cousin began to calm, Dwalin sincerely hoped he wouldn't get so agitated that he'd start pulling on it. Patting his back, he sat back and waited until the only sounds in the room were of deeper, slower breaths, keeping an eye on the bed beside them. Both his aunt and uncle had passed away in this room and Dwalin had a suspicion that this was what had inspired Glóin's honesty to him.   
  
"Do you have anything to tell me, little cousin?"  
  
"I saw him a f-few days ago..."  
  
"By him, you mean Fóli, yes?"  
  
"A-aye. He said he kn-knew them, but c-couldn't stop them."  
  
"How did he say he knew them?"  
  
"He..he didn't say how, he just said he knew t-them."  
  
"Right." Dwalin was quiet for a moment, rubbing his cousin's back, allowing him a few moments of peace before speaking again. "Why didn't you say, lad?"  
  
This question certainly had an effect. Glóin shuffled a lot and probably would have tried to run had Dwalin not been holding him.   
  
Honestly. Some things never changed.  
  
"I know I should've, but didn't want him to get in trouble."   
  
Dwalin frowned. "Glóin..."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
  
Dwalin didn't quite know what to do, other than think about the information he'd just received.   
  
He didn't doubt his cousin's apologies, not for one minute. Glóin wasn't the type to apologise unless he absolutely meant it, which had proved something of a blessing and a curse in the past.  
Still, he was unhappy. He'd known what that bastard had been getting up to and refused to say anything. What if other babes or children had been taken?  
He could see why, if he tried. Fóli was a friend, a close friend. What if Zérid of the Guardsmen, his own close friend, had been involved? If his and Glóin's lives were swapped, he could see why Glóin had chosen silence.  
  
Dwalin sighed. If only Uncle Gróin and Aunt Sannith were still around.  
  
"Dwalin, he said there's lots of them."  
  
Dwalin blinked. "Lots? How many is lots?"  
  
"Hundreds maybe. He said they were like a kingdom."  
  
'A kingdom'?  
  
"I see. Look at me." Slowly, bright black eyes met sharp brown ones. Dwalin carefully flicked a strand of red out of his cousin's forehead. "Are you sure there's nothing else he said?"  
  
Glóin nodded, jogging the strand back into place. "There was nothing else, cousin."  
  
"You did well, lad. I know it was hard for you to say."  
  
"I should've said before.."  
  
"Stop now. What's done is done and we know now. No harm has come from it. But in future, you must say if there's anything not right. Promise me."  
  
"I promise you."  
  
"Good. Up with you. I have to see Thorin.."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"He'll need to know, laddie. Come, I'll take you to your brother.."  
  
"Will Prince take my hair?"  
  
"No! Why?"  
  
"Traitors get shorn."  
  
Oh. Dwalin bent and brought their foreheads close. "You've betrayed nobody, little one. Do you understand me?"  
  
"But I didn't tell anyone about him."  
  
"I think there's another reason along with your misplaced loyalty. What did you think Fóli would have done if he knew you were going to tell?"  
  
Glóin's brows knotted together in thought and suddenly widened. "I don't think he would've wanted to hurt me."  
  
"Thieves," Dwalin said, trying in vain to keep his voice gentle, "have no honour. For them bonds, whether of friendship or family, are easily broken. I think you knew this deep down and that's what kept you quiet."  
  
"I really thought he was a good person."  
  
"Never mind, eh? You know the truth now. Come on, let's find Óin..."

* * *

  
  
About a quarter of a mile away, Olùmil watched Dori doze next to his mother who stared into space, her large hands clenched together.  
  
"Iddy? Are you going to bed?"  
  
"I keep thinking."  
  
"What about?" Olùmil asked, sitting beside her.   
  
"Dróri."  
  
Olùmil tried not to sniff and waited for her to continue.   
  
"There's just something about this that reminds me of him."  
  
"There was a lot you didn't know about him, wasn't there?"  
  
"I certainly didn't know he was going to steal my son."  
  
"What are you thinking?"  
  
"I'm not thinking. I'm contemplating."  
  
"What are you contemplating?"  
  
Idùzhib's rose-pink lips set in a straight line. "Whether or not I should pay Fóli a little visit."

* * *

  
Unknown to the two, a small figure was currently running through the streets, a scarf of soft purple covering his face, a cloak of dark purple softly batting the ground. Ducking behind a barrel, the figure focusing a pair of beryl-green eyes at two dwarves in the distance.  
  
"....Go and see Fóli, see if he'll confess to anything."  
  
Softly, the hidden figure followed the two, silently unsheathing a jagged knife.  
_________________________________


	11. The Prodigal Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idùzhib finds someone she wasn't expecting.

Dwalin thought there was something behind them. But everytime he turned, there would be nothing behind him. Thorin sighed impatiently the fifth time he turned.  
  
"Dwalin, as your Crown Prince, I order you to stop. There's nothing behind us."  
  
"Well, prince, I reckon there is."  
  
Thorin elbowed him. "Stop it. You're my cousin, not a visitor from the Iron Hills."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Why do your cousins call me 'Prince'?"  
  
"Because you are their prince."  
  
"I'm your prince too."  
  
"Yes, but I know you."  
  
Thorin looked grim. Stopping by the prisonhouse door, he pushed it open, entered and held it for his cousin to follow him inside.   
  
"Let's go and see Fóli, see if he's willing to confess to anything else."  
  
As they passed guards, walking down the smooth stone slope to where the dungeons were located, Thorin, too, felt as though something was following them. He looked behind, but saw nothing. Dwalin caught his eye and the two exchanged uneasy looks and quickened their pace.  
  
"Zérid. Open the door for us." Thorin asked of the brunette standing guard.   
  
The key turned the aging lock and there were footsteps from within. Green eyes stared out between the bars on the door and Zérid stood, narrowing his amber eyes.  
  
"Who's t'one with t'purple scarf?"  
  
Turning, Thorin barely had time to register the fact there was, indeed, a person with a purple scarf when the stranger gave a low growl and hurled himself at them, a frightening glint in his left hand. Dwalin all but threw himself in front of Thorin, grabbing the stranger's wrist and slamming him onto the ground. Undeterred, the knife was pressed into the right hand and was slashed at the warrior's forearm, unleashing a trickle of blood.  
Lunging at him, suddenly furious, Thorin grabbed the other wrist and twisted it so the knife was dropped with a clatter.  
  
"Who are you?" Dwalin demanded.  
  
"I'd be careful with him if I was you." Fóli warned.  
  
"And why's that? I should take his head from his shoulders, attacking my Captain of the Guard.." Thorin growled.  
  
"I weren't after your stupid _guard_! I was after my brother. Let go!"  
  
Thorin blinked. "Brother?"  
  
"Let 'im go!" the stranger had the audacity to order. "Let 'im go now!"  
  
Dwalin's eyes were fixed upon the single lock of brown-red hair flopping from a tight plait. The heavy hint of auburn... So fiery and familiar...   
"What's your name, boy?"  
  
"I'm Nori, son of Dróri!"

* * *

  
"Mother?"  
  
Idùzhib wriggled away from her eldest, grumbling softly.  
  
"Amad?"  
  
"Wha'?"  
  
"There's someone at the door."  
  
"Tell 'em to piss off."  
  
"Iddy!"  
  
"Oh, fine." Idùzhib muttered, sitting up. "Hand me my robe, Dori."  
  
Shoving it on, she put her feet into her slippers and shuffled down the stairs, sending her son back to bed. Wondering who was calling so late, Idùzhib fumbled with the latch.  
  
"Miss Idùzhib!"  
  
"Oh, shut up, you daft fecker! You'll wake the whole street! Now," Idùzhib pushed the door open, allowing the cold night air to cool them. "What is it? It better be important, Zérid."  
  
"We think we've found your son."  
  
Idùzhib stilled. "You think you've found him?"  
  
"He introduced himself as Nori, son of Dróri."  
  
Taking a step outside, she stared at the young guardsman. "He's alive? How did you find him? When-?"  
  
"Come to the jailhouse and we'll.."  
  
"The jailhouse?" Idùzhib repeated, frowning at the brunette. "What the hell is he there for?"

* * *

  
So this was Idùzhib's youngest son. He had darker hair than Dori, more of a brown colour than the fiery hair of Idùzhib, but the hint of her auburn was there. He had beryl-green eyes, like Fóli, and they were staring at the blue and brown eyes watching him, while his arms were crossed over his chest, hugging himself tightly as he thought the situation through.  
  
"Maybe he knows about the child-stealer." Dwalin murmured to Thorin in the Dwarven tongue. He didn't expect Nori to understand and wasn't disappointed when the bright eyes revealed nothing.  
  
"Maybe. We should wait for his mother. She might be able to help us more." Thorin replied.  
  
As though on cue, the soft tones of Idùzhib's voice travelled. Nori looked curious and stared at her as she came into view. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders, the lavender robe dragging on the cold floor. Nori's fingers touched his scarf.   
  
"Nori?" Idùzhib whispered.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"My name is Idùzhib."  
  
How desperately she must have wanted to add "I'm your mother", neither could begin to guess. But she must have known that Nori likely knew nothing of her and remained quiet on that front.  
  
"What are you doin' 'ere, Idùzhib?"  
  
"Can you remember your mother?"  
  
Nori looked away. His hand grasped his scarf. "No. I know she 'ad red hair, 'n she liked purple." He gave her another glance.  
  
"Is it true you are Dróri's son?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Does he have brown hair and green eyes, like yours?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Is he a thief?"  
  
"P'rhaps."  
  
"Does he have a tattoo of two upside-down triangles on the underside of his right forearm?"  
  
Nori looked at her again, eyes wide and nodded. "How d'you know all that?"  
  
"I was his wife and mother of his children."  
  
"You can't 'ave been. 'E told me 'is wife, my mother, was dead."  
  
"I'm alive, Nori."  
  
"But... 'E doesn't lie t'me, right?"  
  
"Nori-"  
  
"Why won't they let my brother go?" Nori interrupted, gesturing wildly to where the Crown Prince stood. "'E ain't done nothin'!"  
  
"Nori, Fóli is a child-thief."  
  
"No, 'e ain't! 'E _can't_ be!"  
  
"We caught him in the act." Dwalin rumbled beside Thorin, burly arms crossed. "He certainly is, lad."  
  
"But, I never seen 'im do nothin' like it. An' 'e would've told me!"  
  
"Nori, I'm sure he meant well by not telling you, but he really did try to take someone. If he hadn't, we wouldn't have him in here." Idùzhib told him, gently loosening his scarf. He'd pulled on it so much, she feared for his health.  
  
"You 'ave to let 'im go. They'll be angry if you don't."  
  
"Who?" Idùzhib questioned.  
  
At this question, Nori closed his mouth and wouldn't speak another word.

* * *

  
He wasn't sure about this lady with the long red hair. But she matched Dad's description of his mother so well, Nori thought she _might_ be another aunt of his. She was gently holding his hand, the soft shuff-slap of her slippers hitting the ground. He could almost feel the eyes of the blue-eyed dwarf still upon him and shivered. She held his hand tighter.   
  
"We're nearly home, sweetling. "  
  
Home wasn't with Idùzhib. Home was with with Dad in their segment in the stony maze built into the earth. Dad wasn't actually there now, but he'd had Fóli with him and now... he didn't.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idùzhib's found Nori! But who are 'they'? :/ xx


	12. Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori is uncertain. Idùzhib doesn't know how to gain her youngest son's trust and Óin finds out something new.

Idùzhib had very bright silver eyes. What colour eyes had Dad said Mum had? Nori was _certain_ she'd had silver eyes. He certainly knew she had red hair, the exact shade of ginger, which Idùzhib definitely had.

The more he thought of it, the more uncertain he grew about whether or not Dad and Fóli had been entirely truthful with him. The padding of feet caught his attention and he looked up to see a dwarf, older than himself, with mousy hair tied back in a simple ponytail. He had very deep blue eyes and they blinked upon seeing him.

"Iddy?"

Nori almost snorted. _'Iddy'._ What a bloody stupid nickname.

"They found him." Idùzhib said. "They found Nori."

"'O's this?" Nori asked.

"This is my intended. His name is Olùmil."

"If you _are_ me mother, 'ow come you're with 'im?"

"Some people find they might have a second One if the first one dies...or leaves." Idùzhib said.

"My dad wouldn't leave _anyone_." Nori muttered. 

Idùzhib glanced down. At another set of footsteps, she straightened up and stared at the doorway, moments before another person entered. Auburn hair, just like Idùzhib's, was messy from sleep and he, too, had silver eyes. But there was one other thing.

He was the exact _spit_ of Dad. Nori couldn't believe it. He looked so much like him, the square jaw, the way he looked at him, just _everything_ about him was identical to Dad.

"This is Dori," Idùzhib  said softly, "he's your elder brother."

* * *

 Balin yawned widely and stretched. Opening his eyes, he realised dawn's golden light had entered the room...and that Dwalin was missing. Honestly. Little brothers! Knowing _him_ , he was probably raiding the biscuit tin. Swinging his legs out of bed, he rose, stretched again, and left the old room, stopping only to close the door. Thudding downstairs, he stole a look into the kitchen, shaking his head at the sight of his uncle's eldest son fast asleep, using his textbooks as a makeshift pillow.

Gently, he touched his shoulder. "Wake up, lad. Don't those books of yours teach you anything about neck injuries? Because this is a sure way to give yourself a sore neck."

"Mmm, I am awake."

" _Half_ awake. Open your eyes."

Óin grumbled at him, but did as told, cracking his joints in the most disgusting way as payback for Balin awakening him. "Glóin's asleep in the..sofa room."

"The sofa room?"

"Don't take the piss, I've had about two hours sleep. Dwalin woke me up about midnight and gave me Glóin and then buggered off. I wish he hadn't, I could've clobbered him one for waking me up."

"What did he give you Glóin for?"

"He was upset, I think he had a bad dream about something. Kept going on about Amad and Adad. Took him ages to settle down, so-"

"'Wake him at your own peril', yes, I know. I remember Aunt Sannith after you were born. It became her catchphrase."

Óin rubbed his eyes. "Where did Dwalin go?"

Balin shrugged. "I awoke and he was gone."

"Look at you so calm, even though you don't know where your little brother is. I wonder what that's like?"

"You and I have different circumstances. We had an uncle to look after us."

"I wish we did." At Balin's inquisitive look,  Óin held his hands up. "No, you know I don't resent him or any of it. But it'd be nice to not be the grownup and to go back to being just a brother."

"I see."

"What kin did Mother have?"

Balin paused. Then he slowly answered. "No one. It was just her."

"How does somebody lose a daughter like that?"

"Her mother was dead, Óin-"

"I know, but what about her father?"

"Goodness, he'd be about three hundred years old! No, I don't think there's any grandparents."

"What about brothers? Sisters?"

"No!" Balin said firmly. "She had _no_ family, it was only her."

"Mahal's hairy stones! Don't bite my head off, I was only asking."

Balin was about to reply, only to be interrupted by stirrings from next door. Óin put a finger to his lips, warning him to keep quiet, but in vain, as the front door suddenly crashed open.

"Somebody put the kettle on, would y-?"

"Shh!" Óin hissed, but it was too late. As his sibling tiredly entered the room, he glared at his taller cousin with all his might.

"Mornin'." Glóin greeted, massaging his forehead.

"How're you feeling?" Balin asked.

"'m alright." Then black eyes focused on the burly arm of Dwalin. "Where did that come from?"

"Never mind," Dwalin answered, covering the cut with his sleeve best he could. "When Thorin comes-"

Glóin looked alarmed. Óin groaned. "Does he _have_ to come?"

"Yes." Dwalin answered curtly. "And when he does, he'll explain. I don't expect you two noticed, but I was gone a good portion of the night."

"Considering you woke me up and pushed my brother in my arms, I'd say I knew pretty well." Óin growled. "What did you do that for, anyway?"

Glóin cleared his throat, gaining his brother and cousins' attention. "I.. I-"

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Noting with a confused frown how anxious Glóin became at the insistent knocks, Óin went to answer the door, begrudgingly letting the prince in. Then stared as said prince walked in, a particularly piercing gaze in ice-blue eyes. A gaze directed at his brother, who looked more and more like he wanted the ground to eat him where he stood. Thorin stood a step away from him, crossed his arms and tilted his head to the left before resuming his steady watching.

"Sit," the prince eventually growled.  
  
"Watch it," Óin muttered.  
  
The Prince ignored this, watching his young kin as he sat down, holding his hands tightly together. "So. I hear you have been keeping secrets."  
  
"I... Y-yes."   
  
Thorin stepped closer, piercing eyes boring into the frightened ones of his cousin. Towering over the young one,he growled out three words "For how long? "   
  
Glóin couldn't look his prince in the eye anymore. Those blue eyes burned into his very soul and he ducked his head, preferring to look down at his lap."N-nearly a week.."   
  
"A week?? A week!!"   
  
"N-no! Not a week! Four days!"   
  
"Four days? What in Mahal's name possessed you to keep this information to yourself for such a long time?!" Thorin snapped.  
  
"I-I d-didn't mean to-" In vain, he tried to look at his biggest cousin. "I didn't know how to say."   
  
Thorin scoffed. "So you preferred to keep the valuable information to yourself..."   
  
The prince was livid. Glóin took in a deep breath and remained quiet, not daring to say anything else.  
  
What little patience Thorin had owned quickly dissipated and he slammed both hands on the wooden table which creaked in protest at this treatment. "What. Do. You. Know?"   
  
Glóin wrapped his arms over his chest and tucked his feet under his chair. "Don't!"   
  
He meant 'don't hurt me!' but Thorin's expression darkened further and he grabbed his cousin's shoulders, forcing panicky dark eyes to meet furious lighter ones. Growling, he spoke. "Tell me everything you know. At once. You know what happens to traitors, don't you?"  
  
"No, Prince, please.... No no no.." His still-small hands tried to push at the thick, strong ones holding his shoulders. He wasn't fool enough to attempt escape from Thorin, he wasn't trying to be a nuisance by fussing, but Thorin's massive hands were close to his bruised neck and he felt very uncomfortable.  
  
"Thorin!" Óin snarled. "Get your hands off him!"  
  
Thorin foolishly ignored him, his attention focused solely on the little redhead before him. "Tell me! At once!" And to Óin's horror and rage, he began shaking him as though hoping the answers would spill if he was fierce enough.  
  
His grip on the prince's wrist must gave been painful for he didn't know how else to remove his cousin. Shaking, he stammered, hoping to stop him from his actions. "Please... No... I don't know much... Don't, please..."  
  
"That is enough!" Óin snarled, shoving Thorin away. "I will not have you terrorising my little brother!"  
  
Thorin released his younger kin and turned sharply to glare down at the blonde. "How dare you interrupt me?!" The prince thundered, eyes narrowed.  
  
Óin glared back. " _You come in here and frighten an already traumatized young lad and you ask_ me _how I dare interrupt_ you?! _"_  
  
Thorin growled. "There is more at stake than your brother's tender feelings! There are lives at stake! Lives of innocent, stolen children!!"  
  
"By Aüle! Look at him! He's terrified and he's terrified of _you_! Is this what you want? Besides, if _you_ had a brother, you'd be the same if some bugger came in and started scaring him!"   
  
Thorin winced and paused, but continued staring into Óin's eyes."If this would be necessary to retrieve the stolen children, I would ask my brother the same questions."  
  
"Not like _this_ , you wouldn't."  
  
Thorin tore his gaze away, glancing down. "Hmm." he rumbled. As he turned away from his trembling cousin, he didn't look back, preferring to keep his blue eyes trained on the grey stone floor.  
  
"Thorin, come with Balin and me." Dwalin offered. "I'll tell you both what I know."  
  
Their prince nodded and raised his gaze. Dwalin paused to let him and his own elder brother pass through the door first, looking back at his cousins briefly before following him.  
  
Curling himself up, Glóin squeezed his eyes closed, trembling quietly, hoping Óin would soon go.   
  
But that was not what Óin did. Instead, he stepped close, then crouched, looking up at him, forehead creased in worry. "Nadadith?"  
  
Glóin couldn't look into the dark of his elder's sibling's eyes. Squeezing his own shut, he hugged himself tightly and tried in vain to stop his quivering and bit his lip.

Óin wrapped his arms around him,  his hands gently rubbing circles into the younger's back. "There now, brother.. it's alright..."

Glóin flinched before he realized that it was only his brother holding onto  him. He looked up at him with wide, dark eyes. "'M sorry, so sorry... 'm not a traitor, really not!"

"No, of course you aren't! You haven't betrayed anyone. Shhh, little brother. Calm down. Everything's going to be alright.  You didn't withhold _any_ precious information, nadadith."

Glóin was still shaking awfully. He clung to his brother, pushing his head into his shoulder.. "I should have talked to Thorin! 'T was wrong to keep information from him!"

Óin lightly patted his back. "Shh. Aye, you should've told somebody, but nobody got hurt." 

Glóin held tightly onto him, mumbling. "Thorin was right to be so angry... what if he could have _used_ the information I had? And what's he going to do with Fóli? Is he going to _kill_ him?"

Óin pressed a kiss to the top of his head, thinking of answers to his brother's many questions. "Oh, lad, you didn't know so very much. You were given _very_ little information, were you not?" He sighed softly. "I don't know what'll happen to Fóli. Just don't worry about him, lad."

Glóin nodded, messing up some of his flaming  red hair. "No... he told me there were lots of them, and they were dangerous... but he said neither who nor where they are...I hope Thorin won't hurt him! Fóli never did anything bad that I ever _saw_. He was...good."

"See?" Óin said. "There wasn't a lot you could've said, was there?" He rubbed his brother's back now and pulled a face at the mention of the young thief. "I know. But he _did_ do bad things and you shouldn't worry for him anymore."

"What would Adad say?"

"He'd say what I'm telling you," Óin answered, moving some red hair behind his brother's ears. "That it _wasn't_ your fault, that there wasn't much you could have said and that you absolutely _did_ _not_ betray anyone."

 "But-"

"Shh." Óin reached to his brother's head and stroked his hair, listening as his brother's frightened breathing slowed, feeling him relax and calm, eventually pulling back of his own accord. He looked tired still, pale and drained. Óin stood and helped him to his feet. "Go and rest, nadad. You'll fall asleep in that chair otherwise!"

"Can you stay with me for a bit? Like after Adad passed?"

He would remember for the whole of his life, having to stay with his brother (who kept a hand on his to stop him wandering) until he slept and then waking up at ungodly hours when the younger awoke and found him gone and decided to join him in his bed _'in case you have nightmares'._   Óin nodded.  

"Aye, 'course. Come on."

* * *

 

This was different. After their father passed, Óin would sit on the bed by his brother, talking to him until he slept, and now he found himself with his sibling's head resting on his chest, two slim arms holding around his waist and chest rather tightly. 

This would make it hard to escape.

"Óin?"

"Yes?"

"What if..they're still there?" 

Óin sighed softly, gently petting his brother's hair. "The thieves of children? Stay close to me. Stay close to people we know and trust. The family Ri, or the family Ur, for example. They'll take care of you whenever I am busy. And be sure, whenever I am around, I'll make sure that _nobody_ will take you from me." He hugged his brother tight to him. "I made  a promise in the eyes of Mahal and I made a promise to you and our parents. And these promises I very much intend to keep!"


End file.
